Red Sky
by Snowdream56
Summary: Russia travels to North Italy to escape an abnormally cold spring, but doesn't expect the results of his trip.
1. Chapter 1: Unexpected Weather

Red Sky: Chapter 1

First time posting anything on here in a long, long while, so bear with me if something seems incorrect as far as the format goes.

Eventual boy love in this story, but not planned for until a good while later. Also, swearing when it comes to a character who typically has a mouth on them. Many, many thanks to the betas who were kind enough to sit down and tweak the finer points of this until it sounded right, then giving me the run-down on what can be improved on.

Trying for somewhat modern-day accuracy, and doing what research I can for it, but my biggest apologies if a major mistake is made.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Don't own any of these characters, or Hetalia in general.

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><p>After an abnormally long and hard winter, the temperatures in St. Petersburg had reached a new low for spring—34 degrees Fahrenheit below zero — forcing even the locals to stay holed up in the warmth of their houses, only stepping out if it was truly necessary. In addition, it was March; a month where temperatures were expected to warm, and made the current weather completely unexpected. The previous record low was only around 22 degrees below zero, and the temperatures had gone nowhere near that for quite some time.<p>

Russia shivered, and turned up the heat on the thermostat within the "modernized" house his government had paid for him to live in. He hadn't been sure about the building at first glance, the light brown walls appeared to be thin and the front door had patterned glass in the middle. He did not care for the two story abode, though the staircase was a nice interior accent. He'd been promised new furniture as well, but he'd told the nervous government officials with a smile that he had grown attached to his old furniture over the years, and they'd let him keep it without a single protest.

He didn't mind his new home, he simply liked the older, grander style. However, he had started to fall behind with the upkeep and regular repair of his old house—it seemed that as soon as one problem was solved another popped up in its spot- and with the Baltic trio gone and unable to help, he knew he would eventually need a new place.

The thing that bothered him the most was the lack of space- it was now obvious he lived by himself. Of course, Ukraine came to visit every once in a while, and Belarus if he couldn't make any other plans for the days she was here, and for a business meeting or two, a few of the European countries would come to visit, including the Baltics (but those countries never stayed over, always having a hotel booked in the area, and Russia supposed he had built up enough of a reputation; they had good reasons not to trust him). In the old house, he could pretend that he wasn't so alone, that Ukraine, for instance, was just down the hall.

Russia rubbed down the goose bumps that had risen for the first time in what felt like decades on his arm, even under his heavy red turtleneck sweater, and thought of places he might want to go to get away from the abnormally cold temperatures.

China's home was polluted, and he wasn't a fan of the atmosphere a lot of the country's new cities gave off. Japan and Russia were on relatively good terms, but he knew personally the island nation wasn't a large fan of his presence; although it not much of a surprise considering their history. England, America, France and Spain crossed his mind, but he wanted little to do with either of them at the moment. Germany (and Prussia, who he assumed was technically residing in Germany) was faced with the abnormally cold temperatures as well, though he liked the place and thought well of the personification who represented it.

He certainly wasn't going northward, which left the southern nations; and the only one he liked well enough to consider was Italy. North Italy in particular, as the southern half often made him want to do something violent.

Russia smiled, and pulled on his coat and gloves, adding a fur-lined hat for extra protection from the cold, and partially wrapped his scarf around his face before draping the long, trailing ends over his shoulders. He then made sure all the lights in the house had been turned off and went outside; locking the door behind him even when he was sure nobody would want to steal from him in the first place.

-o-

Meanwhile, Italy smiled and closed his eyes, leaning against the porch railing of his home in Genoa, watching the waves of the Ligurian Sea as they hit the rocks, enjoying the warm yet not quite hot temperatures that came around this time of year, and the cool breeze that rushed in to provide relief for a moment.

Opening his eyes again, he noticed a familiar figure walking along the sidewalk that connected the homes the personification of Italy shared the coastline with. He nearly thought it was Prussia from the hair color, then saw the man for who he was by the telltale scarf, hat, and coat tucked under his arm.

What was Russia here for? The temperatures were getting warmer, sure, and his tourists were coming to his home in what seemed like a larger amount every year, but the Russian didn't have any real reason to be here. The last business meeting hadn't been long ago—in fact, he and Russia saw each other quite often nowadays, whether it was a formal meeting or something more casual, even if their meetings were still full of nerve-wracking anxiety and fear in the beginnings of them. However, Italy could have sworn that everything had been worked out between them.

Had there been a point Russia wanted to go back on? Startled and nervous, he ran back into the house and quickly drew all the curtains, trying to make it appear as if he wasn't home. He then went over to the kitchen, and for a moment his hand hovered over the phone, wondering if he should call someone.

Italy took a deep breath and tried to gather his lost composure, attempting to calm himself after the initial shock.

_No, there's no need for that_, Italy thought. He was at a point now where he should be able to handle Russia on his own, as he had been for the last few meetings (though those were dinners, and he'd had others around to back him up, then)…

A knock on the door made him jump, startling the Italian from his own panicked thoughts. His hand ghosted over the phone, as if to reassure himself it was still there, and he carefully made his way over to the door.

If he didn't answer, would Russia think he was gone?

Another knock disproved that theory, and Italy cautiously twisted the brass door-knob, pulling back hesitantly to peek through the opening. He ignored the way his heart pounded a little, and tried to stop his hands from shaking as he put on his best look of surprise for the taller nation.

He chose to speak in their special language- something which he vaguely remembered that when he first awoke in this world left his mouth without his seemingly ever being taught it. It was meant specifically for them, to eliminate all barriers of communication and to help them recognize each other as more than human. It was easy to slip into, as easy as it was for them to speak in their native tongues, and it certainly helped in occasions of seriousness or secrecy. The various nations had found that the humans didn't pay much mind to it either, simply giving them a strange look or two and moving on in their day.

"Ve, Russia, what a surprise! What brings you here?"

"Just visiting. My home is particularly cold this spring so I thought I would wait out the temperatures for a few days here. Especially since it is so much warmer here, da?" Russia replied, a warm smile gracing his features.

Italy paused for a second, regarding the other's smile directed his way, usually not an expression of actual happiness but of something dangerous, lacking any good intentions, and then nodded- seeing no other reply could be given peacefully. He kept his guard up, but figured there was no harm in entertaining the other nation for a while; if he truly only wanted to enjoy the weather here.

Besides, he could call for help quickly, if need arose.

"It's… it's been getting warmer recently, yes…" he replied, and moved a little from the doorway, "Would you like to come in? I was just about to take a nap, that's why it's so dark, but I'm sure you'd like to sit down after your trip…"

Russia saw the lie, easily identifying it on the other's face through his years of practice, but chose to ignore it, moving past the doorway and into the dark house. Italy flipped the light switch next to the door, illuminating the comfortably spacious living room.

Adjoining this room was what looked like a fairly large kitchen, with large pots and pans hanging from the ceiling over an island, and many stainless steel appliances connecting to the surrounding countertop, along with a steel sink.

Russia could guess what Italy kept in the cupboards familiar enough with Italian cuisine and the small Nation's favorite meal. From the kitchen he noticed a smaller door left ajar that must have led to the garage, if the hint of a parked red sports car outside was any indication. A medium-sized table and chairs were set in the living room, close by to the kitchen.

In the living room, stairs went up to the second story floor, perhaps where the bedrooms and bathrooms were. The overall place was smaller than his, but Russia found he liked the feeling of it; it seemed to fit Italy and his personality rather well.

Italy went over to the living room patio door and pulled back the curtains, letting in even more natural light. From it, Russia could see a view of the sea he had seen from the sidewalk and a small porch that jutted out.

Russia went over to the door and looked out not bothering to hide his interest in the warm waters he might actually be able to swim in, without worry of the cold. He turned and looked over at Italy, who had closed the door behind him and had made his way over to the kitchen, drawing himself a glass of water from the tap.

"Would you like something Russia? I have water, soda, juice… and if you're hungry I can make some pasta…" Italy said, meeting the eyes of the other nation.

Russia thought for a moment. It was true he was a little hungry, but… "You don't mind cooking?" he asked. He saw the Italian's eyes light up a little at the prospect and he shook his head rambunctiously.

"No, I don't mind. It's nearly lunchtime as it is. Ve, Russia, did you like my pasta the last time I made it?" Italy replied.

"Da, it was alright," Russia said.

Italy smiled at this, and Russia decided that he liked the look of Italy smiling. The looks of fear, while entertaining, could get boring after a while, and the happy disposition the boy showed in his presence was a welcoming change. Perhaps should he see more of those smiles in his time here, he could admit, he wouldn't mind being treated to such a thing.

"I'll make you my special pasta, then," Italy told him happily. Though as he pulled out the large pot and filled it with water, he noticed his heart rate had sped up a little, and his hands shook with small tremors.

He hadn't expected Russia to take him up on his offer of food; he had thought perhaps Russia would have had something to drink, maybe chatted a little with him and then left him alone, his visit short. It really wasn't that he minded cooking or that he was nervous about doing something wrong, but food on the table implied a longer stay. That made Italy nervous; aside from business, he… Italy paused for a moment in his train of thought.

He realized aside from the meetings and the wars, he didn't know Russia all that well. He hadn't even been inside Russia's personal house, so did he have any pets? Did he have any hobbies (aside from drinking vodka)? Did Russia like to cook? Italy didn't think he wanted to know Russia's dislikes, but his curiosity nagged at him for those as well.

Russia watched Italy pause in cutting up the vegetables for a sauce, his expression changing from nervousness to thoughtfulness to slight surprise and back to apprehension. Russia wondered if Italy realized how much his emotions played on his face.

Soon enough, however, Italy was back to cutting the vegetables, and preparing the sauce in a separate pot. Italy's eyes never once went directly to him, though.

Turning around, Russia decided to open the door, letting the salty-smelling sea breeze caress his face, leaning against the railing comfortably.

"The pasta's almost done," Italy called out from the kitchen a little while later, and Russia turned his head to look behind him giving a nod to the Italian who finally looked up at him.

Just then another knock came at the door, and Italy looked confused for a moment before exclaiming "Germany!" and walking swiftly over to the door.

"Germany, come in, come in! I was wondering when you'd be coming. The pasta's almost done," Italy said, opening the door for Germany to enter.

Russia noted with amusement that Italy had let the man in much sooner than he had been let in, though wondered if the Italian had forgotten about Germany with him there. He hadn't mentioned Germany coming before.

He watched as Germany smiled softly to the other and responded to Italy's hyper-active statements with an affectionate tone. He then straightened himself up from the railing and walked back into the house, shutting the patio door behind him.

At this, Germany, who seemed to have not noticed Russia before, looked up in surprise.

"Russia!" Germany said, his stance tensing, more guarded now, "When did you get here? Why are you at Italy's?"

"Germany…" Italy started; ready to explain things for Russia.

"I've only been here for an hour or so at most. Your home is experiencing a colder than normal spring as well, so I hear, da?" Russia said, smiling.

"Ah, true it is. Why Italy though? Why not China? His place is just as warm," Germany replied.

"I still have a few difficulties with China that have yet to be fully worked out," Russia said, "I was hoping to keep things a little more on the relaxed side. Like you I'm sure, da?"

Germany nodded again, relaxing by just a little bit.

"Ah, Germany, since Russia's here I offered to let him have lunch with us, is that alright?" Italy asked, glancing at Russia before looking back at Germany. _Ah_, Russia thought, _so he realizes he'd forgotten to tell me about Germany coming over for this. _

Germany looked down at Italy, and sighed before nodding. Germany had hoped to spend some time alone with Italy, but it wasn't like he could say no to Russia, and Italy seemed to not mind; and so he gave in.

Italy smiled. "Ve, thank you Germany!" he said and went back into the kitchen, checking on the sauce by stirring it a few times and giving it a taste before adding in more ingredients. Germany watched him go, and then went to sit on the couch, turning on the TV.

"So, Germany, you've been well I hope?" Russia asked, sitting down next to the man.

Germany nodded. "Yeah. Pretty well. And you? How has your government been handling the cold?"

"Advising those in St. Petersburg to stay indoors if possible, but otherwise it's like normal during this season," Russia replied.

"Ve, Russia, Germany, the pasta is done!" Italy then called out, and began preparing plates and setting the table, placing larger bowls of excess pasta and sauce in the middle.

Russia glanced at Germany, then got up and went over to be seated, Germany following. As they ate, Russia watched quietly as Italy told Germany about the new café that had opened up a little ways away, and how the girls working there were really cute and nice. Germany smiled at this and shook his head, then made his own comment on how a few new places had popped up in his own neighborhood, even a few he remarked that he thought Italy night enjoy seeing.

Russia smiled a little, content to be left out of the conversation for the time being and able to examine Germany and Italy's expressions and gestures as they spoke.

Suddenly, Italy turned to Russia and asked him about his own place, "What about you Russia? Do you have any new places that have opened up near you?"

Russia, not thinking the conversation would have come back to him—since few really wanted to talk about Russia _with_ Russia—was caught mentally off guard, though he kept a broader smile in place as he did some quick thinking, not letting his expression change to show his hesitancy.

"Only one or two that I've seen. Though I believe the owners of one closest to me might close shop soon, since they aren't doing well," he replied. Not because of him, he knew, as most of the humans didn't even know of the existence of nations, but the little art gallery had opened up just as it was starting to get cold, and were spending more than what was coming in because of how few people wanted to make the trip to buy their pieces. He didn't know much about art, but in his mind the pieces they had were nice enough, and thought it a shame that more people weren't interested.

Italy nodded in understanding. "That's too bad," he said, "What kind of place was it?"

"Just a small art gallery," Russia said, and he saw Italy's interest perk up.

"Really?" Italy asked, frowning a little at the thought of it closing, "That really is too bad, then."

Russia nodded in agreement, and went back to his pasta, thinking that he liked the way Italy had made it, but his thoughts didn't go further in his mind, his attention once again focused on Italy and Germany making light conversation. As they all finished eating, and brought their plates to the kitchen, Russia decided that he should probably go back to the hotel he had reserved, and let Italy and Germany alone for a while. After all, it seemed obvious that the German had come here to visit privately with Italy, and wasn't keen on the idea of Italy being alone with Russia either.

Russia admired Germany for keeping such a close friendship with Italy, even after what had happened between them in the war. Russia was protective over the Baltic States, yes, but the four of them shared nowhere as close a friendship after the dissolution of the Soviet Union. With China… he had thought perhaps he had reached that closeness with him, but China too eventually grew distant and critical of him, and the two of them—China mostly— had ultimately decided that it was better if the relationship was kept at a business-level instead of something more. The other relations he had with the various nations either had strings attached, or he simply didn't see them often enough to consider them more than acquaintances.

At this thought, a pang of jealousy hit Russia deep under his thick exterior, but he shoved it deeper. He was fine with his friendships being… limited.

"I should be going," he announced, and looked at Italy and Germany. "Italy, Germany, I'll see you two sometime soon, da?"

"Do you have a hotel here?" Italy asked curiously, and his thoughts wondered to the free guest bedroom upstairs- he would not say anything unless necessary, but he'd offer out of courtesy if Russia had nowhere to stay.

Russia nodded. "I do, not too far a distance from here," he replied.

Italy nodded in understanding. "I'll see you later then," he said, after walking Russia to the door and watching him walk off, giving the nation a return wave as Russia gestured a goodbye.

Germany stood quietly near the kitchen, not too thrilled with having Russia around in the first place, much less having any actual desire to give Russia a friendly goodbye himself. He wasn't even so sure if he liked _Italy_ giving Russia a wave goodbye.

Perhaps it was simply Germany's own thoughts, but he didn't think of Russia as the type of nation you allowed yourself to get close to without caution. In addition, Italy's self-preservation skills usually only kicked in when something was actively happening to him, and Germany had the suspicion that Russia could use that to play Italy straight into his hands if Russia ever felt inclined to do so.

However, even when Germany felt the need to protect Italy's wellbeing, he knew Italy needed to keep his political ties with Russia secure, and his intervention wouldn't help. There was a delicate balance in it all that needed to be kept. For now, he could only watch and hope Italy didn't go getting himself into _too_ much trouble.

-o-

As Russia made his way to the hotel, he began to notice a white car with tinted windows tailing a few paces behind him. He made a couple of extra turns to see if the car would continue to follow him and it did, though no actual move was made against him.

_Strange_, Russia thought.

To test his theory that if he was truly being followed, then the vehicle would stop if he did, he decided to grab a small scoop of gelato from a street vendor,who after looking the nation over told him to keep the cold treat for free as he leered at Russia behind his cart (Russia wondered if he was truly that intimidating to normal humans, because in Russia's opinion, he was far from frightening), and paused in his walk, watching the car pass him without even disrupting traffic flow.

Russia stared in the direction it went for a second, and then walked off. With all the extra turns it would take Russia an extra fifteen minutes or so to get to his destination, but he didn't mind. The snack was tasty, and melted on his tongue in a smooth way that ice cream did not, leaving very little in his mouth aside from the taste even though it was denser than ice cream. He wanted to enjoy it as long as he could.

When he got to the hotel and walked up to the counter, he found the suite he had booked several days ago (with extra vodka ordered to be brought in, since he could only carry one at a time), had been taken by someone else.

"Are… are you sure you have the right hotel, sir? Your name isn't anywhere on here…" the clerk asked as calmly as she could.

Russia nodded, a smile on his face, though false with his eyes expressing annoyance. "Da, I'm certain this is it," he said with what Italian he remembered since he was last made to learn what he could of it.

The clerk looked up from the computer at him, then back down at the screen anxiously. "I-I could book you another room, if you'd like, sir. We happen to have one open…"

"Da, I'll take it, then, thank you," Russia said curtly.

The clerk nodded. "And how long will you be staying, Mr….?"

"Put it under Ivan Braginsky,and one week," Russia replied, and handed over his credit card.

He wasn't fond of the name his government had given him, far back in the days when Polish influences were greater. The last name in particular implied he was part Polish, which he certainly wasn't. Russia was Russian, and nothing else, despite what nationality his former occupiers may have been. However, the government had decided that the name 'Rus' wasn't good enough for when he started to need a consistent signature on documents passing between them.

To his chagrin, the government had also slapped his new name on almost everything official related to him that might be seen by the public—aside from things like his passport and driver's license, which could remain on his person on most occasions, but also gave him the proof needed of his identity to put his official name to good use if the need arose. The name then ended up being used for a long enough time that it stuck with the coming of checks, credit cards and the like. It was also simply something to tell ordinary people such as this hotel clerk, so he didn't go broadcasting that he was Russia, the former Soviet Union.

"Alright then, sir, here are your cards… Your room will be number 318, and the elevator is on your left there… do you have luggage you'd like for us to bring up, sir?"

"I should have some that was sent to this hotel's address, da, if you could check for me," Russia said taking the cards and putting them in his coat, "Also, if you have vodka, could I have that sent up as well?"

The clerk nodded, and Ivan went up the elevator to his room. A few minutes later he received a call; it looked like his luggage had at one point come in, but was nowhere to be found. Russia sighed. He didn't like the way his first day in Italy was turning out.

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><p>Again, a good deal of thanks to the amazing betas of this first chapter, Sweet-and-Simple and Artificial Starlight :)<p> 


	2. Chapter 2: A Walk in Genoa

Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia. Not a bit of it.

Warnings: Some swearing

Many thanks to Sweet-And-Simple, who was the beta for this chapter!

Also, thanks to the person who so kindly reviewed the last chapter as well (and complimented it)! And those that either put this story on their story alerts or added it as a favorite. Makes me happy to see!

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><p>Russia poured himself a glass of vodka from the bottle that had been brought up for him, settling into the chair of his suite. He'd made a call back home and was told that another shipment of clothes his size would be sent to Italy for his stay, but the person he had talked to had been unsure of when they would arrive. A little disheartened at the news, he had gone out that morning to find a temporary change of clothes and had found a few, even though they weren't of his usual style.<p>

Afterwards, he had found breakfast at a café near the hotel and enjoyed the warmer-than-current-Russia Italian morning while he quietly sipped black coffee without anything added. He then ate a delicious, fresh pastry that he felt dismayed he later couldn't remember the name of.

When he was done with breakfast, he had walked around the area a little more before he went back to his hotel and responded to the calls on his cell phone from his government that he had missed while out.

A little further in the afternoon, close to the time most people would start entertaining the thought of lunch, Russia decided that it might be a good idea to go on a sort of sight-seeing self-tour of Genoa. He changed into the long-sleeved shirt he had bought and draped his scarf around his neck, his neck feeling bare and exposed without it. He then took one last drink of his vodka and capped the bottle before putting it away for later use, grabbed his coat and wallet (since it was a little bit colder today than it was yesterday), and headed out.

After perhaps an hour or so of walking around the large city – admiring it for all of its unique sights, sounds and smells, but truthfully feeling rather lost – he came to what looked like a nice restaurant and gained a table to sit down. He set his coat aside and ordered a glass of water as he was brought the menu. Though he didn't consider himself fluent in Italian, he had spent enough time around the Italians to learn _some_ of the language.

"Rus-Ivan! Ve, caught myself before I could give us away! What a surprise to see you here!"

Russia looked up from his menu to see Italy walking up to him, the smaller nation seeming to be smiling with genuine happiness. It was an unexpected change from the attitude Italy had shown around him just yesterday, though Russia couldn't help but let a very small one form on his own lips at the sight.

"Da, Feliciano. Good afternoon." Russia said in greeting. A few other people at nearby tables looked at the two of them for conversing in a language that certainly wasn't Italian—or anything else, for that matter – but they soon went back to their own meals.

"Ve, were you looking around the city? Genoa's beautiful, isn't it? How long are you staying? I can show you around a little," Italy continued on, sitting himself down on a chair across from Russia.

"Da, it is a beautiful place…" Russia said, "I was hoping to spend at least a week here."

"Ah, that's plenty of time for me to show you around then! There are a lot of places to see!" Italy replied. Though in the back of his mind he was a little unnerved at the prospect of Russia being there for an entire week. At the same time he was a little excited. Here was his chance to get to know the other nation a little better, and in turn show the larger nation some of the city's (and nation's) best qualities.

"Are there?" Russia asked. He knew there were, but wanted to keep the conversation going. As he had gotten slightly lost, he only had only seen slight glimpses of some of the bigger tourist attractions that his own people talked about.

"Mmhm! Lots!" Italy exclaimed, throwing his hands wide as if to accentuate how many sites there were, "I can show you a few after lunch. Have you had polenta before? It's really good at this restaurant! With spices and onions and veal! It's not a popular dish around here, but it's very nice!"

Russia thought for a moment. "I think I've had it before. It's like a corn paste, da?"

Italy nodded. "Ve, a little bit like that. But it's really good here."

Russia nodded and smiled. "I didn't like it so much the last time I had it, but I'll try it here since you recommend it."

Italy's confidence rose a bit with the smile and words, but he tried not to show it. "Okay," he said. The two of them ordered the same meal when the waitress came by. Italy showered the girl with compliments in Italian and asked if she was free later. The waitress politely declined, but smiled, thanked Italy for the compliments and went back inside with their orders.

Russia watched her leave and then turned back to Italy.

"Ve, Ivan, aren't you warm in that scarf, by the way?" Italy asked. "It's supposed to go up to around fifteen degrees today."

Russia smiled again. "I am a little, but I don't feel quite right without it."

"Really?" Italy asked curiously. "Is it special to you? Like I have this," he pulled out a chain necklace with a smaller version of Germany's own cross emblem except without the black center, "that Ludwig, gave me during the second world war when we became allies again. It feels weird having it off because I've had it for so long."

Russia nodded, and smiled fondly as he brought a hand up to touch the scarf on his neck. Yes, he was definitely starting to envy the strong friendship the other two nations had. The two of them acted as if they were family, but Italy and Germany weren't even related. "Yes, it is a little like that. My sister made it for me a long time ago."

"I see." Italy responded. "That was nice of her to do that for you."

He didn't want to press any more in case the memory wasn't as happy as his own, knowing a little bit about Russia's history. To change the topic to something lighter, Italy then went on to ramble about some of the places he wanted to show Ivan before the food came.

When the food did come, the two of them sat silently as they ate. Russia remarked that he thought the restaurant's food was good and thanked Italy for the recommendation.

That raised Italy's confidence a little, seeing another thing about the country of Italy he knew for certain the Russian liked besides pasta.

"Ve, so you want to do some sight-seeing after this?" Italy suggested as they finished eating.

Russia nodded. "Da, that sounds fine."

Italy grinned and cheered. Russia wanted to laugh at the reaction, though he suppressed the urge and simply smiled instead. He wasn't used to being as open as Italy was with outward expression. The taller nation paid the bill for the both of them (Italy thanking him for lunch, giving Russia the sneaking suspicion that his paying for the meal was partly pre-plotted when the other nation had ordered lunch with him), grabbed his coat, and then left the restaurant tailing Italy.

Every once in a while the two would stop and look at a piece of architecture, Italy explaining its history and significance. They then came to the Piazza de Ferrari and stopped by the fountain to view the surrounding area, Italy once again explaining the significance of certain buildings surrounding it. In the middle of Italy talking, Russia's phone suddenly rang.

"Hold on a moment," Russia said, looking at the number. The call wasn't from his government- the exact number unrecognizable to him- but it could be something of equal importance. Italy shook his head, told Russia he didn't mind, and went silent while the other man talked.

"Hello? Da, I am Braginsky. It… Say that again, slower. Really? Ah, well, thank you for calling. Da, bye," Russia said into the phone, glad that he knew enough Italian to understand the basis of what had been said and how to reply. He then hung up, looking over at a concerned Italy. "It seems the floor my hotel room was on caught fire."

Italy looked at him in surprise. "Are your things alright?" he asked.

"Da, except for my favorite vodka and the clothes I had on yesterday. My change of clothes I'd had shipped over from my house went mysteriously missing last night when I checked in, so I can't assume they're alright, but everything else I need is in this coat," Russia replied, shifting his coat in his hands and giving it a small pat.

Italy hummed in response, still concerned. He had a suspicion of who had been doing this, with the recent increase in the mafia presence in his half of the country, but he wasn't certain yet. However, if it was who he thought it was, then any moment now…

Italy's phone rang.

Bringing it out from his pocket, Italy looked from the number over to Russia and then put it back, not answering. He'd been right, not that he was going to tell his findings to Russia until the timing was better. But he knew that it would only strain relations with Russia if he let Russia start to think he wasn't welcome here, all because his brother was being overprotective. The only way he could think of to keep a barrier between his brother and Russia was let the bigger nation stay at his personal house, even when he knew Germany wouldn't be happy with him. However, Germany would come to understand once he recognized the situation… or so he hoped.

"Ve, d-do you have anywhere to go? You're welcome to come to my place if you don't have another hotel to go to… Germany's there, but I don't think he'll mind. We have an extra room." His voice, though nervous, sounded welcoming.

Russia looked over at Italy with slight surprise, not used to offers like that. Most nations would have left Russia to find his own place to stay at in this situation; not invite him over to their personal house.

"You wouldn't mind?" Russia asked. Italy shook his head. Surprisingly, within the time of the sight-seeing trip and the restaurant, the smaller nation found he didn't mind as much anymore as he might have in the beginning.

"I think I'd like to if you really don't mind, da." Russia said, smiling softly.

"I really don't." Italy said, shaking his head again enthusiastically.

Sometime later, Russia was following Italy back. Italy was on the phone with Germany.

"Please, please, please Ludwig? He doesn't have anywhere to go," Italy said into the phone, frowning, sounding very much like a child who'd found an abandoned animal and was bringing it to their parents in an effort to keep it. Even Russia had heard Germany's surprised shout when Italy had mentioned Russia would be staying over and the panicked reasoning over why not. It had been loud enough that Italy had been forced to move the phone a small distance from his ear until the militaristic nation was finished.

"No, he doesn't. His hotel floor was burned down. Be reasonable. Of course he hasn't found a new place yet." Italy continued. Russia imagined that with the pause, Germany was at least contemplating the idea now. And then he heard a buzz on the phone to signal the other nation had reached a decision. Italy gave a wide grin. "Ve, okay, he's only staying until he can find another hotel. Yes, I promise that's the case. Ve, thank you, Ludwig! You're wonderful! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Italy exclaimed, an extra bounce in his step. "Okay, I'll see you soon, then, bye!" Italy then hung up and turned around to face Russia.

"See? He said it's alright until you find another hotel." Italy said, though thinking on how he would talk to Germany later to let Russia stay a while longer.

"That's good to hear. I'll do my best to find another hotel quickly, da." Russia said with a nod, thinking the conversation sounded like Germany hadn't been truly won over with the idea, but it was fine with him. A day was all he needed, and then he'd find a new place to stay at. St. Petersburg was still deathly cold to go back to at the moment. After Italy's call, Russia had called his government to do an emergency re-routing of his clothes back to his house since he didn't know where he'd be staying afterwards, and they'd assured him it would be done.

"Oh, there's one last place I want you to see! One of my favorites!" Italy suddenly said, looking up at Russia happily after the other nation's call was finished. "I think you'll like it, it's really pretty!"

Russia nodded, unsure of what Italy was talking about. Besides, he wasn't sure what else he was going to do with his time today. "Alright, we can go, da."

Italy grinned, and grabbed him by the elbow. "Ve, this way!"

An image crossed Russia's mind of how many people had grabbed him by the elbow, rarely to take him anywhere safe and without pain. Not many had dared to handle him like that since he was able to break away from the Khanate and had started building himself up as a nation. It wasn't until he'd gained more countries under his control that someone had grabbed him in that location again, either by mistake or on purpose. The countries under his command had each learned their lessons about it well enough when they did so that they usually didn't do it again. Even China had always been cautious about the area when Russia gave in to letting the other nation touch him.

But he couldn't punish Italy for it, something in his mind telling him 'Wrong!' in big, capital letters. Not Italy. With another nation, he'd have no trouble smashing them into a nearby wall and in fact enjoying their reaction to him afterward. But he couldn't do it with Italy. There would be large repercussions if he did, and not just simply concerning his ties with the smaller nation. He needed to hold himself back.

"Don't grab me there," he said harshly. In a rougher manner than he had probably intended, he broke his elbow away from Italy's grasp and gave Italy a small, slightly dangerous glare. His eyes still held some warmth to them, but his expression warned the smaller nation about pressuring him on the reasoning for his actions.

"Ve, Russia…? Are you okay?" Italy asked quietly and in slight surprise, looking up at Russia. He shivered at he stared into the other's chilling, violet eyes. They were as solid and cold as stone, but yet at the same time warmer than he expected. Russia refused to answer, his facial expression unwavering.

"Do you… not want to go?" Italy asked quietly.

This seemed to break Russia from his previous expression, the muscles around his jaw softening by a little bit. He then shook his head, plastering on a smile for Italy even while he was still a little shaken from Italy's touch. "No, I would still like to go. Just lead the way, da," he said, his voice a little softer than his normal tone.

Italy nodded, smiling even though he kept a bit of concern on his face. "Okay. Ve, this way then," he said, pointing in the direction he wanted to go and then running off, checking to see if Russia was following; he was relieved to see that he was.

After a little while of walking quietly, Russia much more content to just stick by Italy's side than to wander off on his own, the two of them arrived at the Villa Durazzo-Pallavicini.

Russia smiled. "It's lovely." He admired the green of the place, as well as the ponds and small architecture. There were few things like this in his home.

The two of them spent quite a bit of time there before deciding to go back to Italy's house. Italy looked back up at Russia's face, noticed the previous tension that was there had dissipated a little, and smiled, happier that he'd made Russia's eyes shine a little brighter—for the sake of his safety, if nothing else.

On their way over to Italy's, Russia heard the sound of running feet and looked over to see Romano hastily making his way over. "Feli, I've been trying to call you all day! What've you been… doing…? Why is that vodka-bastard here?" he cried out, hesitating in his speech when he saw the tall Russian standing behind his brother and proceeded to point at Ivan.

"Ve, ciao, Lovi!" Italy said, giving his brother a bright smile. "He's coming home with me for a bit, since his hotel partly burned down, and even his spare clothes got stolen."

"Dammit, Feli, are you crazy? This guy is… is…" Romano exclaimed, looking back and forth between Russia and his brother before seeming to back down a little.

Romano shifted his feet where he stood and muttered that Russia's situation _did_ sound unfortunate, his arms defiantly crossed. He didn't meet the taller nation's gaze, averting his eyes. '_He knows something about what happened to me, doesn't he?' _Russia thought amusedly to himself.

"Hello, Lovino," Russia said, giving the older Italy a smile and placing a firm hand on Romano's shoulder. "You wouldn't happen to know where my spare change of clothes is, would you?"

"I-I don't know where your damn clothes are! And why should I?" Romano said impatiently and somewhat hurriedly, shoving Russia's hand off him and stepping to the side a little ways, closer to his brother, but this time daring to look Russia in the eye. Russia raised his eyebrows and Romano shrank back in response, the blond having become more intimidating than what could possibly be handled with just the simple change in expression.

"Ve, fratello, don't hide things from Ivan!" the younger Italy nervously told Romano who continued to stare at Russia like he'd suddenly produced his pipe on him, which Russia might have had it not been with his spare change of clothes. He'd been able to use his sense from years of being with Romano that the southern half of Italy was keeping something a secret about the clothes and didn't want the situation to end badly for his older brother. For what should have been the height of the day, the air was a little colder than usual. Russia only continued to smile back, folding his arms across his chest.

"I-I-I swear I didn't take them, damn it! Maybe it was the mafia! I-I'll ask them about it, okay, b-bastard?" Romano said, addressing Russia though again refusing to look at the large nation.

The air suddenly warmed up a little.

"I'll hold you to that Lovino," Russia said, still smiling, "And you really should stop calling me a bastard, da_. I'm not fond of it_."

"I…I…B-ah!" Romano sputtered out. "Feli, I'll just… stay with you until you're home. So you're safe from… from... all the other bastards out there."

"Okay," the younger Italy replied. Russia ended up following the both of them to get a taxi. The ride out of the downtown area of Genoa was short but tense, none of the three nations speaking to each other aside from the two brothers making occasional small talk. The north half of Italy felt relieved when the taxi finally arrived at his house.

"Now that I've seen you home, I've gotta go back now, Feli. I'll call you later, okay?" Romano said once all three had gotten out of the taxi. The two brothers exchanged a short goodbye before Romano began to walk off.

"Lovino, don't forget my clothes, hm? I'd really like to have them back." Russia called after Romano, though Romano only responded by breaking into a run, not giving the scary nation so much as a glance back.

Italy sighed. "He'll probably find them," he assured Russia.

Russia nodded confidently. "I'm sure he will, da."

"Feliciano!" Germany called out, standing over at Italy's house as the two walked over, "I thought I heard you." Germany turned to Russia and inclined his head slightly. "Ivan, it's good to have you here."

'_Of course it is for you.' _ Russia mused to himself somewhat sarcastically—knowing how Germany didn't particularly enjoy his company most of the time, but nodded. "Ludwig, it's good to see you."

"Ve, Ivan, come on in," Italy said happily, instantly bringing the mood up a notch simply with his own energy. He followed Germany back in, and then held the door open for Russia. Russia smiled and walked inside, shutting the door behind him.

"I'll show you where your room and everything is, Russia," Italy said and headed towards the stairs, switching back to the country's official name once they were in private. Russia gave Germany a final, contemplative glance, and then followed.

As Russia had thought when he first came to the house, the stairs came up to a hallway that curved around them, the three rooms situated next to each other with what looked like another single, large bathroom. Italy walked over to the last room down the hall. "This room's yours." He said, opening the door to let Russia see inside. The room was medium-sized, not small but not very large. On one wall was a large window where he could see the street below, with the bed beneath it. Against the other wall were a dresser and a desk that had several papers scattered around on top. Not much seemed to have been done with the room otherwise, but it looked comfortable at least.

"Is it okay?" Italy asked, breaking the silence that had been created by Russia looking around the room. Russia looked back towards Italy and smiled.

"Da, it's okay." Russia said. He looked to his feet as an orange tabby cat threaded its way through them.

"Ah, Gino!" Italy exclaimed, picking up the cat- who didn't appear to be happy with being taken away from the new person he'd been sniffing. "Sorry about him, he likes to just do as he pleases sometimes…"

Russia shook his head. "I don't mind. I have a cat at home too."

"Really?" Italy asked, "I didn't know!"

Russia smiled, though a little sadly as if in remembrance. "He's good company." '_Good company when I'm alone in the house_,' Russia thought, '_when everyone else has left_.'

Italy smiled as well, feeling more comfortable at putting Gino down who proceeded to trot off down the hallway in a huff as soon as he hit the ground. "Ve, cats usually are." He agreed. "Now that you're here, do you want something to drink?"

Russia shook his head. "No, I'm fine."

Italy nodded. "Okay. Well, I'll be just downstairs then if you need anything."

Russia nodded and watched as Italy left before sitting on his bed and letting out a sigh, wondering what his next plan of action was. He surprised himself by thinking on how he wanted to stay with Italy in his house. Why? Simply to be around a nation who was the exact opposite of what he was? He could go to Spain for that. But even Spain wouldn't seem quite the same. Italy was… special, somehow.

Russia took off his boots and lied down on his bed. He halted his thoughts about Italy before they went too far and found his eyes drooping.

"Russia, dinner is almost ready! Germany made the food tonight!" Italy said, poking his head in to see Russia sound asleep. Russia looks peaceful, he thought, without worry – like a child's face. He decided it would be best not to disturb him, and went into the other room to grab an extra blanket. He placed it over Russia's form. Italy mused that though the blanket covered him, the bed was a little small. Luckily, Russia had obviously not minded. Italy smiled and knelt down next to Russia to examine his face more closely, memorizing it for a moment. He then got up and left the room, shutting the door as softly as he could.

"Is Russia not coming?" Germany asked when Italy came down the stairs without the third nation. Italy simply smiled and shook his head; Germany noticed how calmly content Italy was, instead of the bounciness Italy had expressed going up to the second floor. Did something happen?

"He's asleep," Italy simply supplied and Germany nodded, forming an "ah" with his mouth, understanding.

"Well, dinner's ready. I'll put some in the fridge for Russia in case he wants some later," Germany replied without much more thought on the matter, making up plates and setting them on the table.

"Okay, thank you Germany," Italy said, and with a bigger smile exclaimed, "Ve, it looks good!"

Germany smiled softly, and the two of them sat down to eat.

* * *

><p>Research notes!<p>

For those who don't remember about the conversion between Celcius and Fahrenheit... Celcius is the temperature in Fahrenheit, minus 32 and divided by 1.8. Thus, 15 degrees on the centigrade scale equates to about 60 degree weather for those that regularly use Fahrenheit.

I also took a few liberties with Romano and the mafia. In reality, he doesn't really have a whole lot of control over them. But I can imagine he'd be able to boss them around at least to the extent of keeping an eye on his brother (and Russia for that matter) and giving them a few jobs to do if there's something he doesn't like.

As for Russia knowing Italian... Italy as a country is Russia's second largest trading partner. This year is also deemed by President Medvedev "Year of Italian Culture/Language" in Russia, and Italy's Prime Minister declared this year "Year of Russian Culture/Language" in Italy (even though the fic is slightly futuristic in its setting). So I can imagine Russia would definitely know at least a little bit of the Italian language from these things.


	3. Chapter 3: Dreams and Revelations

Disclaimer: Hetalia and it's characters are not mine...

Warnings in this chapter: Some swearing, implications of gore and what usually gets seen in a directly-post-battle battlefield (specifically the aftermath of the Battle of Tannenburg: WWI, East Front), but in no heavy detail. If the war-story isn't your cup of tea, skip ahead when it's mentioned.

Thanks to my wonderful beta who checked this over! You guys get two chapters one quickly after the other this time! Though after this we'll probably start having these on a week and half/two-week schedule, so... you may have to be a bit patient.

* * *

><p>Russia made his way through a blizzard, the wind and cold biting at his exposed cheeks as he trudged his way through. He'd been foolish to have forgotten his hat during weather like this. He was trying to get home, knowing vaguely where he was and what direction to go in but unsure of the exact distance or why exactly he'd bothered stepping out without his hat in the first place (from wherever he'd come from—it dawned on him that that bit of information was lost to him as well). However, regardless of the miles he might have been from home- or the reasons he was away from the prospect of a warm fire in the fireplace- he'd lived long enough to know General Winter's games; knew that if he stopped for too long he would slowly start to freeze. Granted, he wouldn't die because he was a nation- and nations didn't die until their people gave them up- but he would still freeze, making him miserable for quite some time until he was able to find shelter and heal.<p>

Spotting the outline of a large cave dug out from a rock face, Russia began to make his way towards it. The wind howled, threatening to push him over to the side, but Russia pressed on until he was safely inside. Sitting down for a moment and adjusting his heavy coat around his knees, he took a look at his surroundings. At first he saw nothing but the dark grey rock surrounding him. However, when he looked behind him he noticed something strange. Farther back from the cave entrance sat a lone sunflower that he hadn't seen when he first came in, situated just out of reach from the snow. Russia smiled softly, wondering how it had survived this long.

"Seems we're both in a tricky predicament, my friend, da?" he asked it in soft Russian, but the sunflower didn't respond, as was expected. Russia got up and moved closer to it. "Although you seem like you're in a good spot for the moment…"

Russia looked back out into the snowstorm, bringing his knees under the cover of his large coat. But when he looked back at the sunflower, the petals were starting to fall and the stem drooped with the weight of its top. Russia watched in both amazement and horror as the entire flower seemed to wither and die before his eyes. "Ah, don't!" he cried, reaching out to touch the rapidly browning flower, the touch breaking the stem and causing the flower to fall on its side. "Don't…"

Russia stared at its remains for some time before rocking back into a sitting position, his arms around his knees. His eyes burned as a knot in his stomach formed and twisted. But he didn't cry. It had been so long since he had last cried that he had forgotten how to. It figured that something like this would happen. Good things never lasted for very long.

The dream then turned to a battlefield, Russia walking through the field around Allenstein, East Prussia. He was at first confused and disoriented, his mind trying to grasp how he had gotten there, and then remembered where he was and the why.

Prussia had allowed him to survey the damage, cackling in his victory and the fact that his side only had 12,000 casualties to account for, only to make a point about Russia's defeat and rub it in his face. 78,000 killed or wounded, and another 92,000 taken prisoner. The tall nation knew this from the General that _hadn't_ committed suicide. The railroad networking had proved difficult to maneuver around, General Winter hadn't been around to help and they'd had telegraphing issues at the beginning of the battle. This, combined, had proved to be fatal. Russia understood this.

He hated it; he thought Samsonov—who chose death over dealing with the consequences of his tactical errors—a sniveling coward for not confronting the Tsar with it, but he understood.

Blood and bodies covered the field- thankfully not all of them his men – flooding his nose with the scent of iron-rich blood and decaying bodies. He wrapped his white scarf around his neck a few times more, if only so it wouldn't drag along the ground, and adjusted the black sleeves of his coat so that they didn't ride up on his arm quite so much. His chest, stomach and head ached at the large loss of men and ached at the pain of the soldiers who he knew were fighting bravely elsewhere. He sat on top of an embankment, not looking at the… half of a man… draped over the top next to him.

He wasn't bothered by the sight—had seen enough half-bodies that it was almost a familiar thing now. However, the dead didn't deserve someone gawking at them, or looking through their uniforms for useful or even needed items- no matter what side they were on. They'd dealt with enough. His eyes closed as a new wave of pain made his heart clench, his ears still open for lingering gunfire in case he needed to take shelter.

But as soon as he did so, he felt a strange sensation. As if he was falling backwards, but he couldn't open his eyes to tell where he was landing…

-o-

Russia woke up with a start to a room unfamiliar to him. For a moment, he was confused about the situation and still trapped in his dream. He caught his breath and listened around him as he tried to remember how he had gotten where he was. However, after hearing the sound of a coffee grinder and smelling something good cooking beneath him, he remembered that he was at Italy's and relaxed his body.

As he pushed himself onto his elbows, he noticed a blanket covering him that wasn't there before. He lifted it up to examine it more closely. Had Italy put it over him? Certainly it hadn't been Germany. The thought of Italy coming in and putting it around him made a small smile form over his features. He wouldn't have expected the smaller nation to be so kind towards him.

Russia neatly folded back the blanket and got up, unwrapping his scarf from around his neck as well. He then made his way downstairs, following the smell of breakfast being made. As he came into the kitchen, he saw Italy cooking eggs over the stove. Having heard Russia enter, Italy looked over his shoulder and greeted him with a smile.

"Ve, good morning, Russia! I hope you like eggs! I don't usually eat them, but Germany likes them, so…" Italy said cheerfully.

"Good morning. Da, eggs are fine," Russia replied, pulling out a seat from the table to sit on. He looked around. "Where's Germany today?"

"Germany said his boss wanted him so he had to go, but I got him to agree to let you stay until you decided to go back home," Italy responded, putting eggs on plates and sprinkling some pepper on them, adding some bread rolls and jam on the side. Italy put these things down on the table with silverware and then went to grab the latte he had made from the countertop. "Ve, do you want anything to drink?"

"Just some water would be good, da," Russia replied.

"Okay!" He came over from the kitchen with his latte in one hand and a glass of water in the other, handing Russia his drink before taking a seat himself opposite the taller nation.

"Did you sleep well?" Italy asked, spreading the jam onto his roll and taking a bite of it.

Russia hummed in affirmation- even when he hadn't really slept well at all- and took his own first few bites of breakfast. "Da, I did… how did you sleep?"

Italy smiled. "I slept really well. Oh—Germany put a plate of your dinner in the fridge, since you didn't come down for it. He thought you might want it for later."

"I'll have it for lunch," Russia said with another nod. The gesture was unexpected from the Germanic nation, though not unwelcomed. "Tell him thank you for me, for doing that."

Italy nodded. "I will."

"Also, thank you for the extra blanket last night, I appreciated it," Russia added.

At this Italy seemed to balk a little. _Did he notice I was staring at his face last night, too? _ "Ah… i-it was no problem… I didn't really feel like waking you and you looked kinda cute in your sleep, a-and the house was kind of cold so… but ve, how did you know it was me?" Italy said, then shrank in his seat a little upon noticing what had come out of his mouth.

Russia looked at Italy in surprise. Not even China had called him cute to his face. He was called handsome, yes, but cute wasn't a term he'd heard applied to him before. The taller nation wasn't sure exactly what he _should_ think of it. But… the feeling was a good one. "You think I look cute in my sleep, da?"

Italy gave a nod, looking towards the kitchen like there was something he could bring up from there that would allow him to change the topic and wondering how small in his seat he could become. "Ve, I hope you don't think badly of me for saying that… I-I mean… Germany looks cute in his sleep too… like a little kid… and kind of like a grown of version of someone I used to know, especially when he's sleeping, even though I know it's _not_ him… and you kinda had that same little kid look when you were sleeping and I thought that… well…"

Russia smiled, widely and warmly. Though he could have reassured Italy that he was perfectly alright with the description of his looks while asleep, he was finding it quite entertaining to watch Italy squirm and dig a verbal hole. So he continued to eat what remained of his breakfast and watched with interest as the other nation rambled on about nonsensical things.

Italy eventually tapered off his monologue as he realized that Russia hadn't really given him any answers to his statement one way or the other. He still didn't quite look Russia in the eye as he began to eat more of his breakfast.

At that instant the doorbell rang. "Da, I can get it," Russia said as he got up from his seat. He opened the front door to reveal Romano standing on the other side of it with his suitcase.

Romano stared up at the Russian for a moment in surprise. Regaining himself and glaring at the tall nation, he then said, "I… I've got your damn things, here. T-the mafia did have them but—why am I explaining myself to you? Just take them, damn it!"

Russia smiled and took his bags from where Romano had unceremoniously dropped them on the ground. "Just make sure they don't do it again, da?"

Romano seemed about to burst from the combination of his fear of Russia and the frustration of Russia still being there in the first place. "Whatever. You better not hurt Feli while you're here, bastard."

"Da, I'll try my best," Russia said, continuing to smile, and watched as Romano stormed off before going back inside. The blond brought his things in and shut the door. "You didn't want to say good morning to your brother, Italy?" he asked.

Italy shook his head, cleaning up the dishes from their breakfast, continuing to avoid Russia's gaze. "I talked to him already this morning; I can call him again later."

Russia nodded. "I'll just take my things upstairs." He made his way back to his room with his suitcase. Once upstairs, he stripped out of the clothes he had unintentionally worn the night before. He had simply taken off his clothes in the hotel when he went to bed, having nothing else to change into.

He then dug around in his suitcase until he found a fresher outfit with a polo shirt that he had brought for the trip. "Da, much better," he said approvingly to himself. As he left his room, he heard the shower going, signaling that Italy must be using it.

Russia went downstairs and opened the patio doors to let the Italian sun warm him a little, leaning on the railing. After a moment he heard the distant noise of the shower die down to nothing, but continued watching the waves hitting against the rocky coastline, rising upwards against the rocks only to fall back on themselves. He was slightly entranced by them.

"Russia?"

Russia turned at the sound of Italy's voice calling his name behind him and smiled. Italy was dressed in dark pants and a stylish-looking jacket over a pinstriped shirt. Russia almost told Italy it looked good on him, but perhaps it was simply because Russia now felt the slightest bit under-dressed next to the fashion-conscious nation that he kept quiet.

"Da, Italy?" Russia asked.

"I was wondering if you'd want to sight-see a little bit more? Not really into the city this time, but just to walk around." Italy asked.

"Da, that sounds nice." Russia replied.

Italy smiled. He began to speak a little more excitedly. "Ve, a-and then after lunch maybe we can play some football—I know a really good field to play at nearby, and when we get home there's time to take a siesta!"

Russia let out a very small laugh at Italy's mood. He wasn't the best player at football, his team ranking low compared to a good number of the European countries and only a select few times -he could count the number on one hand - actually making it only to the very first divisions of the FIFA world cup finals, but he'd humor the small, football-loving nation for the time being. "Alright."

"Ve, just let me find my shoes, then we can get going. Aren't you going to wear your scarf?" Italy replied.

"No, not today, I think," said Russia. Particularly if he was going to play football, the scarf would only serve to hinder him.

"Okay," Italy replied with a nod, thinking how just yesterday Russia had said it felt strange to not have it, but maybe the heat of it had just gotten to be too much? Italy left the thought at the back of his mind and went to go find the shoes he planned to wear.

Going out along the sidewalk, Italy doing most of the talking, pointing out different styles of houses, or a street that was accessible only by walking it was so narrow. Russia gave nods every once in a while, or asked questions about the surrounding area of Italy. But for the most part, he enjoyed simply watching Italy talking with a bright smile on his face.

If someone saw them from their own home and greeted the two of them, Italy would always give a wave and a greeting in return, the mood seeming to not be dampened by anything. However, when Russia looked up and saw the dark clouds coming in swiftly from the ocean, Italy followed his gaze and understood that their walk would be coming to an end. He and Russia made their way back to Italy's house.

Within a few minutes after getting inside, the clouds broke into a rain.

"Ve, we made it back just in time, didn't we, Russia? Though, now we won't be able to play football until this clears…" Italy said, looking over at Russia as he took off his jacket, slight disappointment in his face.

"True. But this will let the plants grow after all that sun. I don't mind the rain for that." Contrary to Italy's disappointment over the rain, he was rather glad for the sudden change in weather. He hadn't been eager to go embarrass himself in front of Italy over an impromptu football match.

Against Italy's hopes, it continued to rain all day- through lunch, through the short nap that Italy took while Russia read a book that he had packed in his suitcase, and through dinner as well.

After dinner, the two nations simply enjoyed their time together, Russia finding what ways he could to make Italy smile in what was almost a game to him, and Italy finding what made the Russian do the same – even once getting the blond to really _laugh_ at one of his tales about his time with the other nations in a rich, deep baritone that Italy had never heard before, and found he wanted to hear more of.

-o-

Soon enough, with a thunderstorm starting to brew from what Russia could see, it was time to part ways to their beds. Russia changed into a tank top and shorts, happy to have a change of clothes to climb into bed with. He then turned off the lights and crawled into bed, pulling the covers over himself.

As the thunderstorm grew in intensity, Russia was only able sleep lightly with the noise, so he noticed straight away when the door to his room crept open. He reasoned with himself it was probably nothing but the wind, but his eyes shot wide open when he felt another body crawl next to his own, shaking like a leaf. Blinking to let his eyes adjust, not sure what he should do, he spotted the familiar ahoge sticking out of the covers and forced himself to release a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"Italy? What are you doing in my bed?" he asked, his voice more clipped than he'd meant it to be, but he couldn't help it. Body contact like this didn't bring up the best of memories; he found himself very tempted to shove Italy away from him and tell the other nation to go back to his own bed.

"S-scared," the Italian next to him finally admitted, his voice barely audible. Well, Russia had figured that part of it out quite well. No help needed in that department. It was what to do about it that had him troubled. Did Italy do this often? But at least the other nation was trying to keep some strength by not crying, judging by how his shirt remained dry.

"Of what?" Russia asked. A flash of lightning followed by a loud thunder crack answered his question for him as Italy whimpered and clung onto Russia for what seemed like dear life, putting his _arms_ around the other man's torso in complete disregard for who he was clinging _onto_. Russia stiffened at the increased contact. He was about to throw his self-control to the dogs and tell Italy a thing or two exactly about how the other nation should be conducting himself about him, but forced himself to take a step back and think when he remembered that doing so would only make this all much worse.

What was he supposed to do in this situation? Pushing Italy out of the bed wouldn't solve matters, since Italy might still be there in the end and would keep him up until the storm stopped, and he certainly wasn't going to be forced out of his _own_ bed by the other nation—there was too much pride involved there.

Then a memory hit him of the last imperial family of Russia before… _that_… happened. Of the children that he'd lived with who'd run to him for similar reasons, be it a thunderstorm or nightmares or the dark itself. How Russia couldn't bring himself to harm or scold the children like he did with most people that even so much as touched him, and had surprised everyone by showing another side of himself, a gentler side.

So was he supposed to think of Italy as a child?

Certainly the nation wasn't one anymore, last time Russia had checked, even when at times where Italy's mental capacity seemed to be.

Another thought floated into Russia's mind, bitterly, that Germany should be taking care of this, not he who was so ill-equipped for the job. Germany, who wouldn't mentally snap at the slightest wrong word or touch; that was who Italy should be going to. But Germany wasn't here, so Russia took another long breath and decided he would do what he could in his stead.

"Spokójnyj, Italia," he spoke in soft Russian, then switched back into the universal language of the nations, realizing Italy wouldn't have understood his Russian. "Hush… If I sing you something will you sleep?"

Italy stiffened a little, thinking about the offer, and then nodded against Russia's chest. His imagination brought up Russia's singing voice, probably sounding something like Germany's – which, the last time he'd heard it, he'd prayed Germany's singing only sounded that bad when the man was _that_ drunk and Prussia's equally bad singing voice might have been what had made it so terrible –but what could it hurt to try and listen? If it wasn't liked… then he simply wouldn't fall asleep. It was better than outright denying the stronger, scarier nation, anyway, and probably risking his life in the process. Gods of old, he was risking his life enough as it was, all because Germany wasn't there and he couldn't handle a simple thunderstorm by himself. He'd tried being not quite so clingy to another person, to be brave like his brother probably was about this, but his attempts at consoling himself hadn't worked.

Russia took a small breath, wondering how correct the lyrics were to the situation- and in some parts of the song how much he really wanted to apply them to Italy as a person. He then began to slowly sing the Cossack Lullaby in the way he had heard it from Ukraine long ago as she sang it to another child (as he had heard different melodies for himself when he was at the age for lullabies, though didn't remember the wording), and imagined hearing her voice singing with him in his head. He sang slowly and steadily in a warm, soft baritone that Italy wouldn't have otherwise thought possible for Russia, but thought to himself that he'd been proven wrong.

"Spi mladyenets, moi prekrasný, bayushki bayu… tikho smotrit myesyats yasný f kolýbyel tvayu… Stanu skazývat' ya skazki, pyesenki spayu, tý-zh dremli, zakrývshi glazki, bayushki bayu..."

As Italy listened to the just the first few lines, he felt his eyes begin to droop until they were nearly closed- the sound of the thunderstorm becoming something off to the distance in his mind. He could still hear it, but Russia's voice was now at the forefront, taking charge of his attention as easily as a near-perfect plate of pasta.

"Sim uznayesh, budit vremya, branoye zhityo… smyelo vdyenish nogu f stremya i vazmyosh ruzhyo… Ya sedeltse boyevoye sholkom razoshyu… Spi, ditya mayo radnoye, bayushki bayu…"

Italy wondered if Germany would have done this for him had he asked. Italy imagined being scolded for his fear of the thunderstorm and then stubbornly rejected until, with enough begging, Germany gave in… Germany could be so harsh, even though most of his military duties had been significantly lessened with peacetime. Italy then thought of the nightmares Germany sometimes had, the horrific-sounding memories that continued to haunt him even in the nation's dreams. Perhaps, if he couldn't get Germany to sing to him, he might try singing to Germany when the blond was having trouble coming back into reality. He had a soothing enough singing voice, after all. Yes, he liked that idea very much.

"Bogatýr tý budish s vidu, i kazak dushoi… Pravazhat' tibya ya výdu, tý makhnyosh rukoi… Skolko gorkikh slyoz ukradkoi ya f tu notsh pralyu! Spi, moi angel, tikho, sladko, bayushki bayu… perhaps this is no good. I am surely only scaring you more, da?"

Italy looked up at Russia sleepily and shook his head.

"Ve, you're fine," he assured, and relaxed further as Russia began again, seeing that the blond had his eyes mostly closed in soft concentration, half watching to see when Italy would succumb to sleep. Italy let out a contented sigh. His eyes finally closed, letting himself be lulled away past the storm and into a dream world by the foreign words. Someday, he'd have to ask Russia what the lyrics meant, but not now.

"Stanu ya toskoi tomit'sya, byesutyeshno zhdat', stanu tselý dyen' molit'sya, po notsham gadat'… Stanu dumat', shto skutshayesh tý f tshuzhom krayu… Spi-zh, paka zabot nye znayesh, bayushki bayu…"

Russia watched as Italy's breathing began to slow, the other nation's breath warming his shirt. He had been unsure of whether to put Italy back to bed after this or let him stay, but… what would it hurt to let Italy just lie there as long as he wasn't bothered anymore and Italy left him alone in the morning?

"Dam tibye ya na darogu obrazok svyatoi, tý yevo, molyasya bogu, stav pyered saboi… Da, gotovyas v boi apasný, pomni mat' svayu… Spi, mladyenets, moi prekrasný, bayushki bayu… Italy? Are you asleep now?"

Russia received no answer other than a small, unintelligible mumble.

It was clear Italy was now sound asleep, nestled up against Russia's chest like he was the only source of heat. After a moment of thinking if this was wanted or not, Russia carefully placed his hand on top of Italy's head and held it there for a moment before smoothing the hair downwards, simply feeling the soft strands weave their way through his fingertips. He wasn't sure why he had chosen to make that action specifically, but he'd liked the way Italy had given a hum of contentment and the way the smaller nation's shoulders drooped in relaxation. Better than his touch causing a flinch out of fear, though a good deal of the time he liked how another nation might react to him in that way. It was reassuring, having the knowledge that he could cause those feelings in another, built out of years of feeling the same way himself. But at the same time, it was reassuring to know he could still, every great once in a while, cause a reaction like this.

Not that it made him feel _any_ better about the fact that Italy was still _touching_ him.

Carefully, he took Italy's arms off him and turned to face the other direction, falling asleep in a way that he was much more used to with being minimally touched. He let Italy stay despite how he would have preferred to have it all to himself—the bed barely fitting him as it was. It was an issue China had complained about multiple times with him- particularly after he'd finally let his barriers down with China to allow some intimacy to occur- but he could never bring himself to fall asleep with China in the same bed any way else.

It was a night where Russia didn't experience a single nightmare, instead dreaming of warmth and a vast field of sunflowers stretching as far as the eye could see… and suddenly, as he was enjoying the view, Italy stood in the middle of it all, his hand extended towards him in invitation.

* * *

><p>Extra notes:<p>

Spokójnyj: Hush, quiet

Lyrics for the Cossack Lullaby can be found in a number of places... if you'd like to know the meaning, it's easy to look up.

Allenstein, East Prussia has since gotten renamed Olsztyn, Poland.

Though one could say Russia and the other allies "won" WWI, a good few of the battles on the Eastern Front were just as much of a bloodbath as it was to the West.

That's all for now!


	4. Chapter 4: Talks

No real warnings for this chapter, aside from tricky issues being mentioned.

Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine, unfortunately...

Thanks to those who took the time to review the last two chapters! Made me happy to read them while typing this out. :)

Starting to work our way out of the fluff here...

* * *

><p>Italy woke up face to face with Russia's chest and the taller nation's arm draped over his back, his eyes shooting open and his body stiffening in surprise until he remembered why he was like that. He had come to Russia because it had started to thunderstorm and he hadn't wanted to be alone.<p>

At first, it had seemed like Russia was about to shove him away (it had been like hugging a tree for a moment, the other nation was so still). Germany sometimes gave that reaction to him too. However, if it ever appeared that Italy was upset, Germany would spend as much time as needed holding him and whispering words of comfort. With Russia, he had wholly expected to be pushed off the bed and even out the door. But then he… had rather unexpectedly sung to him. In such a way that in no time he had forgotten about the storm still raging outside and had gone straight to sleep.

Italy smiled contentedly, and –thinking that it might be okay to do so with the normally highly reactive nation so sound asleep—pressed his ear to Russia's chest, hearing the heartbeat of the other nation keeping a strong, steady rhythm. Italy's mind wandered to the time when he'd witnessed the organ on the EU meeting's table. _I like his heart_ _much better when it's inside him_, Italy thought.

He pulled back a little to examine the other man more closely, also thinking of how, if Russia were to wake up with him pressed against him like this, there was a danger of his being hurt. Russia's chest was a little broader than Germany's, but that could simply have been because of the height difference. Italy then looked up at Russia's face, examining it as well.

Despite his earlier embarrassment about it, Italy really did like the look that Russia's features gained when asleep. After getting the chance to see it again, he found himself wanting to see it more often. Even after this week was over (not even knowing how he would achieve this, but wanting it regardless). He found himself wanting to reach up and gently caress that peaceful expression beneath his fingers-although he didn't dare in case Russia woke to it and had a bad reaction. He found himself wanting to…

Italy frowned a little. Was he getting… attached to Russia? Italy shook his head. He couldn't be. Russia had only been in Italy for three and a half days in total. Before that, he had only seen Russia during meetings (which were admittedly often) – knowing not much about the other nation aside from what his policies were and from the small snippets of conversation pertaining to the country.

Although, it was true that after a few times of seeing it, he _did_ find Ivan's –more genuine—smiles to be nice. During World War II, when the Italy brothers had given themselves up to the allies, they were (mostly kept) as far apart from each other as they could get while still seeing each other. Thus, Italy was never able to see the side that gave such a soft smile, even if the other nations might have once in a while caught a glimpse.

Perhaps… perhaps these few days in his home was all Italy had needed to breach a few of the harsher barriers around the tall nation and see that side of Russia most never saw at all – and he liked what he had seen.

What would Germany say if he knew? Germany heavily disliked Russia, mostly because of what had happened with Prussia while the silverette was in Russia's possession. He only managed to make peace with Russia for business relations. Prussia… Italy had seen Prussia when he was initially allowed back. Out of energy, bruised in both body and spirit, and looking for all the world half-dead. Yet with enough consciousness left to be happy to see Germany, Italy and those of the allies that had made it there to witness his return before passing out in his brother's arms.

Russia – from what stories he had heard about the nation from Prussia- had been brutal to the other nation. There was no other real word to describe it. After hearing Prussia speak, Italy had felt the need to get back at the other nation as much as Germany had. But Russia had seemed like he'd had moments where he was about to snap at Italy and didn't for some reason.

In fact, Russia had shown Italy a side that was the complete opposite, had let Italy see a deeper, more tender, and slightly more vulnerable part. Did that make Italy lucky? Special? He wasn't sure, but he knew he'd have the other nations to back him up if something ever happened.

He wasn't alone.

He hoped.

A part of Italy still set off the alarm bells against Russia's violent mood swings, though. And Italy wasn't ready to turn them off just yet. He'd be careful, like walking into a field of barely covered landmines. He'd turn tail like a true Italian if it ever seemed to swing in the direction of being too much, and Russia probably knew that. But would Russia accept Italy leaving him if it came down to it? Italy decided that would have to be a question to ask Russia himself, if Russia ever decided to reciprocate things, before things got even remotely serious. In fact, there were quite a few things he wanted to ask Russia about before things got serious…

If things ended up working out, that is. He still didn't know if Germany would accept the situation. How would he tell Germany that he couldn't curl up next to him every night because he was with someone else? He'd still try to be there for Germany's nightmares that he had, but how would he let him know that he couldn't always be right there—but Italy at least could be there on the phone, right? How would he take Italy being with someone who nearly destroyed Prussia? How would Prussia himself take it? Italy cringed.

Prussia would probably have a worse reaction than anyone aside from perhaps the Baltics.

What would everyone else think? Romano wouldn't be happy with him for sure. Would France be alright with it? England? America? Japan? China? China, who Italy knew had been in a serious relationship with Russia before? Italy suddenly felt sick. How many might turn their back on him?

Italy didn't want to go into this without telling anybody first and after a little bit of thought decided that one of the first to know should be Germany and Prussia- since they of all the nations deserved the knowledge. He wanted to leave tomorrow if he could. His boss was usually fine with his sudden long-distance trips- as long as Italy got things done once he was back and he was assured that Italy wasn't just shirking duties but actually doing something productive with his time.

-o-

As Italy thought to himself, Russia began to slowly wake up. He was surprised to feel that he had turned around in his sleep to face Italy and even had put his arm over Italy, having distinctly remembered that he'd fallen asleep facing away from the smaller, touch-happy nation.

In his mind, he played back and forth on the idea of letting Italy stay where he was and taking his leave when he could, or not, and see what might come of it if he stayed where he was. Italy would probably get up and leave on his own, eventually.

Italy felt Russia stir from sleep, and immediately tensed up in case Russia had forgotten why he was there. Russia took this reaction into his musings. So Italy was still a little afraid of him since last night. For some reason, he found himself wanting to reassure the other nation, so unlike his usual urge to scare him any further. He acted on the feeling in curiosity to what would happen.

Russia smiled a little, not opening his eyes quite yet. "It's alright, Italy. I won't hurt you," he said and felt Italy relax again next to him.

"Ve, thank you for singing to me last night…" Italy said quietly, snuggling a little closer and feeling Russia's breath against his hair. He missed how Russia stiffened and sucked in a small breath, not quite expecting Italy to get _closer _to him—only to simply relax, "You could have just laid there and I would've eventually been fine…"

Russia opened his eyes and looked down at Italy. He did now find it a little annoying that there were other methods for Italy to relax, requiring only a little bit of patience on his part. Russia closed his eyes again and gave a small, short hum in response.

Italy looked up at Russia. "Was it annoying to you? That I was like that?"

Russia shook his head. "Not really. Just… surprising at first, da." He surprised himself at his words, very much wanting to tell Italy that he _had_ been annoying, though the statement he gave was… well, half-true. Italy suddenly crawling into his bed had been initially surprising. Although, if Italy ever crawled into his bed again, he wasn't repeating the favor of letting the other nation stay.

Italy nodded. "Ve, I was thinking of heading off to Germany's place tomorrow… just so you know… B-but you can stay here while I'm gone. I should be back pretty soon, but if I'm not and you need to go back to Russia, just leave the key under the doormat and I'll find it…"

"You'd trust me with the key to your house?" Russia asked quizzically.

Italy nodded.

_That's interesting_, Russia thought. He didn't know if he should see Italy as trusting or stupid. The nation mused to himself that there were certainly a good number of nations that would probably think Italy the as latter.

"Why are you going to Germany's, though?"

"Ve, just… I have something I need to give him that he forgot when he was here," Italy said, looking away.

"Really…?" Russia asked, sensing that Italy was hiding something.

"Really," Italy said, his tone a little more serious. Russia let the issue go. Italy then wiggled himself out of Russia's arms and stood up. "Ve, I'm going to get dressed and make breakfast downstairs. See you down there?"

Russia nodded, sitting up. "Alright," he said, watching Italy exit the room and shut his door, wondering what Italy was up to with Germany. He was partly glad Italy had finally left him alone, though a very small part of him wanted Italy to stay simply so he could ask more questions.

He got out of bed, pushing that smaller part of him into the background. If there were more questions that needed to be asked, they could always be asked later. He got dressed and headed downstairs. Italy was on the phone with one of his bosses, wondering if he could secure a plane over to Germany. The prospects sounded good by the tone of voice Italy was using.

Italy turned around to face him and smiled, then gestured to the plates, jam and pastries already on the table, mouthing for him to sit and start eating. A cup of water and a cup of steaming coffee had also been placed on the table for the both of them.

Russia nodded and sat down, amused that Italy had remembered his preference for water in the morning (seeing as Russia doubted there was any vodka as an option) from yesterday. He grabbed a pastry and took a bite, watching as Italy finished his phone conversation his boss and hung up. "I have to give one more call to Germany and let him know I'm coming over. Then I'll eat with you, okay?" When Russia nodded, Italy walked upstairs and called Germany's number.

Russia wondered why Italy was being so secretive with a simple phone call to Germany, but figured it was none of his business and continued eating.

-o-

Upstairs, Italy quietly shut the door.

"Hello?" Prussia voice sounded on the phone.

"Ve! Hi, Prussia! It's Italy, is Germany there?" Italy asked.

"Hey there, Italy! Sorry, Germany's out right now. Why, do you need me to tell him something? I heard Russia's over at your place, everything okay? I'll kick his ass for you if he touched you!" Prussia answered, his voice taking on a more serious tone on the topic of Russia.

"Ve, I'm fine! Russia hasn't done anything to me," Italy answered.

"Really…?" Prussia asked skeptically.

Why did everyone seem to doubt him today? "Really, though, Prussia, can you let Germany know I'm heading down tomorrow? I want to talk to him in person about something. Well, you too, really…"

"Oh, just spill it. What is it you can't tell the awesome me over the phone?" Prussia asked, voice brimming with confidence.

"Ve, it's something important! But a phone is too impersonal," Italy tried to explain.

"Are you sure it's not just something you simply don't want to say with Russia there?" Prussia asked.

"It is but—" Italy began to say but was cut off.

"I knew it! He _did_ do something to you! That bastard!" Prussia said angrily over the phone. Italy gave a small sigh at how the other nation jumped to such a conclusion so quickly. "How badly are you hurt? Do you need me and Germany to come over there? Just say yes or no."

"I'm not hurt!" Italy exclaimed and then covered his mouth, realizing he might have said that a little too loud. He looked back towards where Russia was before speaking a little quieter. "Ve, I said Russia hasn't done anything to me and I mean it. I just need to talk to you two in private and in person. You'll find out why when I get there."

"Italy…" Prussia pressed in a warning tone.

"Ve, I'm telling the truth, Prussia," Italy murmured. "Can you just let Germany know?"

"Fine, fine, I'll do that, just let me know if Russia doesn't let you go or something, okay? I know how that bastard thinks of people," Prussia replied.

"I will," Italy said.

"Do you promise?" Prussia asked.

"Ve, I promise. Ah, my plane leaves at around 11:00 my time, so I should be there in a few hours after that your time," Italy replied.

"Okay, then. I guess I'll see you whenever you get here. Stay safe, okay?"

"Okay. See you later, Prussia!" Italy gushed.

"See you later, Italy," Prussia ended the call and Italy hung up the phone. He sighed, asking himself one more time how he was going to do this.

As Italy came back down the stairs, he noticed Russia had finished eating and yet was still sitting at the table. The other nation was flipping through an Italian magazine that, judging by the speed at which he flipped the pages, Italy realized he probably wasn't actually reading. Russia looked up when he reached him.

"Ve, you didn't need to wait for me…" Italy said.

Russia shook his head. "I don't mind. Did you get to talk to Germany?"

"No, but P-Prussia's going to let him know I'm coming," Italy said, noticing Russia's face darken a little at the mentioning of Prussia.

"And Prussia's doing well, da?" Russia asked. The smile he gave was a little cold, lacking the warmth Italy had seen the past few days.

"Ah, yeah, he's doing okay…" Italy responded, sitting down to his own breakfast. Though Italy suspected Prussia still wanted a chance to beat Russia into a bloody pulp.

"That's good to hear. The pastries were good. These were the ones you bought down in the city the other day, da?" Russia said, and his expression once more gained a bit of warmth as the subject changed.

Italy nodded. "Yeah, at that one small café we stopped by with Romano before we grabbed a taxi…"

Russia nodded. "Da, I remember. They were very friendly."

"Ve, they were nice people," Italy agreed.

The rest of the day was spent rather uneventfully, the two taking a taxi into the city and having lunch there, with Italy making a new type of pasta for Russia for dinner. At some point after lunch, Italy took the time to call his boss about his trip and, as expected, his boss was reluctant for Italy to take off, but was otherwise fine with it.

-o-

Russia was both happy and surprised at the amount of time he seemed to actually want to spend with Italy and, as the two of them sat on the porch and watched the sun starting to set over the sea, Russia decided to give such close boundaries a small test. Italy's insistence on getting close to him was making him a little unsettled, and he wanted to widen the space between them back to the comfort zone he usually kept with others.

It was a contradiction to how he'd felt before, he knew. But what he thought when he was still half-asleep didn't matter in the face of what he thought when wide awake.

"Italy, you've heard a little bit about my past, da?" he asked, and Italy looked over with a small bit of confusion on his face, wondering why the topic had come up.

"A-a little bit… why?" Italy replied.

"How much do you know?" Russia asked.

"Ve… I know it was really bloody and that there was a lot of fighting…" Italy said softly.

"Mm, but have you heard about what my life was like then?"

Italy thought for a moment, and then realized he didn't really and shook his head. "No… not really…"

"Let me tell you then, da?" Russia replied with a small smile.

"Why?" Italy asked, puzzled.

"Hmm… Because I feel like it," Russia said simply after some thought.

"Ve, you just… feel like it?" Italy repeated apprehensively.

"Da, that is why. Though as you can probably expect, I'd be rather unhappy if you were to use it as leverage for anything. There's no repayment for this except you listening," Russia said.

Italy caught a sliver of danger in Russia's eyes, and quickly shook his head. "I-I won't."

The danger in Russia's eyes dissipated with the simple words and Italy felt like he was able to relax again. "Da, that is good."

Italy listened closely as Russia told Italy about his history, though it wasn't as detailed as he thought it was going to be, Russia skimming over much of his childhood aside from important events. It was true he knew a little bit more about Russia's detailed history past the Crimean War, though he hadn't realized there was just as much warfare and rebellion and bloodshed before that.

He recognized a little bit more of why the other nations called him crazy and not quite sane in the head aside from what he'd seen of Russia's personality during meetings. However, he wasn't there for those events personally, even if Russia's policy simply seemed to be avoidance of a fight until he had been harmed in some way by the other country. But though he had also been passed around between countries a few times, his route had been to go the opposite way of Russia, despite how weak it made his government and military.

It was interesting to compare the two of them. What might it have been like if Italy had forgone the route of peace and art and living the good life? Would he have eventually ended up like Russia one day? In some ways, Italy was glad he'd followed the path he'd chosen, but he could identify with Russia. Certainly his path was a tempting one to follow for one who'd had such a rough beginning.

Russia watched Italy and sat back a little, trying to judge the other nation's expression. "I hope I didn't scare you off," he said with a small smile, though a part of him thought the statement a lie. He wanted Italy to run in fear, to tell Russia he didn't want to be around the larger nation. After all, Russia wasn't the best choice to get close to as Italy so intended on getting.

Even China had eventually begun to see that the consequences of Russia's past - as well as his tendencies towards physically lashing out when he was upset, as part of those consequences- was too much to handle and he was unable to justify keeping any relationship towards Russia other than friendship and business. And, though they had a friendship treaty between their two countries as well as helped each other in bettering themselves and trying to reach out to others, China usually seemed to remember why he'd left in the first place and kept his distance.

Italy looked up, surprising Russia by smiling softly. "No," Italy said, "You didn't… thank you for telling me all that… I think… I think I understand you a little better now, but in a good way…"

"…Really?" Russia asked, intrigued.

Italy nodded. "Yeah… You… seem like you have your reasons for a lot of what you got into…" Except for Prussia, Italy thought to himself. Italy understood the atrocities of World War I, even though he hadn't been battling on the Eastern Front at the time. He knew that up to five times more people died for Russia than the Germans and Austrians. He knew Prussia was the one who attacked the Russian border in World War II as well.

But he'd heard about what Prussia had gone through, and a part of Italy still didn't forgive Russia for it, despite the telling of his history. Granted, Russia had originally been against the dissolution of the Germanic nation but… Prussia came back in a worse state than the Baltics…

"Why…? To Prussia…?" Italy said quietly. He didn't know why, but he felt he needed to ask.

Russia looked at Italy quizzically. He frowned, seeing already where it was going and not liking it. It was a sore topic in his history, and he was growing tired of people reminding him of it and accusing him for what he was only indirectly involved in. Besides that he and Italy had already seemed to grow close enough that Russia had assumed the other nation must have put the issue in the past. "Hm? Prussia? I thought you knew this already." _How many times do I have to explain about him?_

"I just… I don't understand… Even though I know what he did during the World Wars, you… you and your army… did so many horrible things to him, his women, his citizens in general… " Italy said quietly.

"I don't want to talk about this, da," Russia replied with a strained smile that clearly broadcasted that the topic hadn't needed to be brought up and didn't need to be elaborated on.

Italy pressed on boldly. "He's my good friend. I care about him. I want to know why."

Russia's smile widened a little, becoming more on the brink of insane. "Since you truly seem to not know then, I'll tell you, da? Listen closely because I won't be repeating myself. After the Tsar fell, like Germany, my only job became training the members of the military and watching over Prussia. If Prussia provoked me while in my care, I reacted accordingly, in the same way I reacted if anyone else retaliated against me. Da, I did send him to the gulags for a time after he decided to be aggressive towards me, but then I took him back when I saw he was starting to become unable to defend himself against simple humans. I had enough to deal with when Poland started making plans for independence among everyone in my care that I mistakenly let my government handle the treatment of Prussia's people after I gained him. They nearly killed him and I am regretful for letting things come to that. It was hard for me as well to even keep him breathing sometimes. But what was done was done. It can't be changed and either it's accepted or it's not."

Italy opened his mouth as if to make a statement about this. Russia but did not let Italy get a word in and continued. "You should know what it feels like to lose a part of what you considered yourself. It is agony, da? As if a part of your body is fighting its hardest against you. Now imagine that multiplied fourteen times, and that was how I felt. There were fourteen different places on my body that caused me quite a bit of pain. I had little time to deal with any one nation in particular. However, leaving Prussia to my government wore his strength down more than if he was left simply in my care. I did not appreciate what extra actions my government did to him, but my voice was not heard by my government until the deeds were done."

Russia took yet another few breaths, thinking back on those days which he did not care to remember. "Yes, I lashed out at him when my territories began to leave me and will admit to causing the injuries you saw on him when the wall fell, but you could say I had my reasoning, da? I lashed out at anyone I could get my hands on if I thought it might make them stay because I did not know what else to do and it was the suggestion my government gave to me. I regret now listening to the lies of my bosses, especially because their 'help' only made things worse. I was, though, quite desperate to keep unity among my states. The concept of being alone is not a nice thought for anyone, particularly when they are in as much pain as I was."

Italy withered in his seat, processing the information. He had only ever heard Prussia's side of the story, so what he'd learned was new. But even still… the very thought of the nation who'd helped him unify his country and gain independence being hurt made his heart clench. Russia seemed so casual about it, even when he gave his reasoning and regrets behind it. "You… even while you were in pain, you didn't have to touch him…"

Russia frowned at him and stood up, walking over to Italy and seeming to study him. For a moment, the other nation thought that with Russia's absolutely terrifying expression and the way the tall nation's fists, jaw and arm muscles were clenched so tightly, that perhaps this time he'd really done it. He was going to die a horrible bloody death and his body would be either unrecognizable or never found. Perhaps it was good that Russia's pipe was elsewhere. However, Russia was as strong as America, so the man probably thought the weapon wasn't needed in the face of someone like Italy. As Russia began to raise one of his hands, Italy closed his eyes- preparing himself for the first blow.

It didn't come.

A sound like a wrecking ball crashing through wood resounded instead. When Italy finally looked up, he saw that Russia had punched his arm through his house and was giving him the type of grin that dared Italy to ask his question again.

On seeing Italy's widened eyes and the way the brunette was opening and closing his mouth like a fish, Russia chuckled darkly and pulled out his arm from the hole he'd made.

"Perhaps it might be wise for us both to head off to bed, hm? I'd appreciate it if we didn't speak of this topic again," Russia told Italy. He then walked back into the house, sliding the patio door shut behind him.

"Ah, Russia—" Italy began to say in response after he was finally able to take his eyes off the hole in the side of his house- his tone nervous and still holding a tinge of fear- but the Russian had taken big enough strides that he was up the stairs before Italy could fully turn around. That had been a close call in terms of his safety, but in the back of his mind Italy fretted that he might have struck too much of a nerve and had damaged their relationship beyond repair.

He didn't follow Russia, and didn't repeat crawling into the other's bed that night, spending the night curled up alone.

-o-

The next morning, Italy knocked on Russia's door. Upon receiving no answer, he cautiously opened the door.

"Ve, Russia?" he asked softly. On no further answer opened the door fully. He froze, however, when he saw that Russia was missing from the room. Although Italy still had the sensation that Russia was still somewhere in his country, the personification himself was gone. The bed was already made, and the taller nation's bags were missing.

Flooded with feelings of guilt and dread, Italy leaned against the doorframe for a moment. He then went back downstairs and made a phone call to Germany. This time, Germany picked up. He sounded understanding about Italy's decision not to come over after all and didn't prod on the reasoning.

Italy was thankful for Germany not asking about what might have happened between the phone calls. He was certain that, had Germany asked, he would have broken down about causing Russia to snap at him. If Germany heard that, - and perhaps after he would have scolded Italy for provoking Russia like that before assuring him – more tension would only be created between the Germanic nation and Russia.

Germany had enough to worry about without feeling like he needed to protect Italy's interests.

* * *

><p>Thanks go to Sweet_and_Simple for beta-ing :)<p>

Notes for those who want them:

Contrary to a lot of stuff written about Russia in fanfiction post WWII... Stalin was very, very paranoid about the people around him and their loyalty. I don't think it would be too far-fetched to have this paranoia extend to the personification of his country, no matter what Russia might have had to say about it. But being unable to do away with his country, all Stalin really could have done was put Russia into a lower rank- just high enough to still have information pass through, but low enough that his opinions could be over-ridden.

For Prussia... my take on that is what's written up there, pretty much. Not completely taking the blame from Russia for any abuse, but taking away the blame for a small chunk of Prussia's final condition.

There's also mention in the famed "Christmas Bloodbath" (for those Hetalians that keep up with that stuff), of Russia saying something along the lines of Russia being confused over why he can't make friends as every one of his bosses has told him to use force. Which led me to believe Russia is (or used to be) slightly gullible towards what his bosses said to him...

(should add: that's not my personal opinion of Russia as the actual country or its people... just in case anyone raises an eyebrow at that. It's just my gain from what Himaruya wrote... :P)

So... think I've covered everything for this chapter, there.

Until next time!


	5. Chapter 5: World Meeting

Disclaimer: Still don't own Hetalia...

No real warnings for this chapter. Sorry for the wait! As summer picks up, my life an story-writing time does as well.

But thanks to those who reviewed and put this story on your story alert/favorites list. :)

* * *

><p>"You're an idiot," Romano told Italy frankly when he'd finished explaining what had happened only a day before, his expression hardened. "A damn big one. You could have gotten really hurt."<p>

The Northern half of Italy averted his eyes ashamedly and stared at the patterns of the carpet. He sat in a couch of the living room of his brother's villa—which showed obvious Spanish influence— in the Southern half of the country. He'd known his brother would call him something like that, but hadn't expected for the words to hit home as much as they did now. "I know," he said quietly, unable to really say anything else.

His older brother frowned at the defeated tone, not liking the change in attitude even when his sibling really should have _known_ that something like this would happen when he'd said those things to Russia. Groaning, he walked over and sat down next to the new Veneziano, batting him lightly on the top of his head.

"You really _are_ one of the biggest idiots I've ever seen. You know, if you really wanted to get closer to the big bastard, you really should have planned that out a little better and worked on making the trip nicer for him instead of provoking him like that," Romano said. His brother winced in his arms and Romano mentally flailed on how to _not_ make his brother feel worse.

"Well… see if you can keep business relations with him at least. I'd try to find him again before he can make any hasty decisions. Just... be careful while you're at it," he added.

This had encouraged the northern half of Italy to search for wherever Russia had gone off to. However, the backed up work his boss gave him (as he'd agreed to do when Russia's visit was finished) was enough that he was soon forced to abandon the search.

The rest of the week had Italy either taking care of his very-prone-to-wander-off (and even disappear for days at a time) cat or sitting at one of the desks upstairs signing and reading over various documents of just as diverse importance. Predictably, when Italy heard the weather had finally warmed up at Russia's in the following few days, the presence of the larger nation – feeling like an itch he couldn't scratch sitting in the back of his mind—vanished without a trace.

The next world meeting, Italy later learned, was to be held in Iceland the following week to figure out methods to help the young nation's current financial crisis. He'd offered Romano to tag along with him, but his brother had complained about how he still had work to do for his part of the country.

When he got to the island's location for the meeting, the first thing he did was find Germany and Prussia inside the building. The two brothers were standing in wait just outside the room in the hallway, talking with each other. Both were in formal suits, Germany holding a folder and notebook under one of his arms. Prussia, on seeing Italy, immediately went over and scooped the smaller nation into a large hug. Italy couldn't help but smile, greeting the both of them.

"Italy! How's it going, huh?" the former nation asked after releasing Italy.

"Ve, it's going okay," Italy said, looking between Prussia and Germany. "My boss had a lot of work for me to do, so… Sorry again that I wasn't able to come over like I said I would."

"I already let you know it was fine," Germany said. "How was your visit with Russia?"

"Ve, we had a good time! We went sightseeing and I got to show him a lot of stuff around Genoa! We got along really well!" Italy said excitedly before his face fell at the thought of what had happened. "But then he had to leave early, so… we only got to spend a few days together."

Germany hummed understandingly, taking note of Italy's expression. "Did he say when he might be back?"

"No… he didn't…" Italy said, his voice showing disappointment. He averted his eyes marginally to the side.

"He wasn't an ass to you when he left, was he?" Prussia asked, his eyebrow quirked.

Italy looked at Prussia. "Ve, he wasn't," he said. Russia had been frightening, certainly. But his response to Italy's pushing about Prussia hadn't been unwarranted, even as Italy felt he'd had his own reasoning for not letting the subject drop.

Prussia grinned and slapped a hand onto Italy's shoulder. "That's good! Oh—come with me, I want to show you something awesome!"

"Prussia… the meeting starts in just a few hours, you know," Germany said.

"I'll be back with him in time!" Prussia protested. "Geez, West, I'm not going to make him miss it. You're so uptight!"

Germany sighed. "I'm more worried about _you_ getting back on time. But if you insist…"

Prussia grinned again, and began dragging Italy off down the hallway, cackling victoriously.

"Bye, Germany!" Italy shouted as he was led away. Germany raised a hand in reply, shaking his head.

After travelling some ways down the hall, Prussia stopped by a door. He pressed his index finger to his mouth, then looked into the peephole before beckoning for Italy to do the same. Italy gave a nod, and looked into the small hole, wondering what Prussia had seen inside. Inside the room was a large area with couches and a wide coffee table in the center in the style of a break room. However, on one of the couches sat China and Russia. China sat quietly, looking over affectionately at the taller nation whose head rested against the other's shoulder. Russia had his eyes closed, and appeared to be sleeping.

Of course, Italy knew Russia had been in a relationship with China before and knew Russia had tried his luck in love with America and even Germany after the split of the Soviet Union - both times the relationship being revealed to have been rather one-sided the entire time- after their split. He also knew that he and Russia still considered himself and China close friends.

But for some reason… it _bothered him _to see the two of them being _this_ close, although he couldn't really peg the reason why. Seeing them so close bothered him even more than it had to see Russia and Germany together - being happy for Germany but thinking that perhaps he was being cast to the wayside and wasn't needed as a friend anymore.

Italy pulled back, looking first downwards and then at Prussia.

"Ve, we shouldn't spy on them…" he said quietly.

"It's awesome, though, right? It's been forever since I've seen those two like that!" Prussia said. He was beaming like some sort of proud parent, although Italy was certain the silverette had done nothing to get the two nations back together.

"Ah, yeah…" Italy looked downwards again. He'd known before about Russia's relationship with China, but had thought China had broken off the relationship with the larger nation some time ago, save for a pact of good-neighborliness between them. He hadn't thought the two of them would still be this close with each other… so why had Russia been so kind to him before? He hadn't seen Russia be so agreeable with anyone else.

"Italy?" Prussia asked. "You alright there, buddy?"

"Ve?" Italy responded, looking up at Prussia and putting on a bright smile. "Ve, I'm fine! Let's go find Germany again."

Prussia held a questioning stare at the smaller nation for a moment then put an arm around Italy. "Alright, we'll go find him," he said, walking forward. "You're super sure you're okay? 'Cause you look like you're feeling really un-awesome right now."

"Ve, I'm really alright. Thank you for showing me that, Prussia. It _was_ pretty cute to see," Italy said.

Prussia grinned. "I want to grab my camera and take a picture of it. Hopefully they'll still be like that before the meeting starts!"

Italy raised his eyebrows at the former nation. "Why?"

"That's because that baby's going straight on my blog!" Prussia said, laughing.

Italy sighed and shook his head. He hoped Prussia wouldn't get _too_ badly injured from this plan of his. "Ve, I'm not coming with you for when you jump in there for that…"

"Why not?" Prussia whined, his body sagging against Italy. "It'll be fun!"

"Ve, because I don't want to… they'll be mad at you, and they're both scary when they're mad…"

Prussia sighed dejectedly, then grinned playfully. "Fine, fine. Be that way and miss the awesomeness."

Italy smiled back.

"Look, there's Germany!" Prussia said as they rounded the corner and walked into the meeting room. Germany seemed to be the only nation present for the moment. "West! We're back!"

Germany looked up from where he was getting documents in order, and gave a nod to the two of them. "Good to see you," he said.

"Well then, Italy, I'm off! I'll see you at the meeting!" Prussia said, and began to walk back out of the room.

"Prussia, where are you going now?" Germany asked.

"It's a secret!" Prussia said, beaming at the thought of his very awesome plan.

Germany looked over at Italy with an expression that demanded an explanation for Prussia's behavior.

"Ve…" Italy responded, looking at where Prussia had gone than back at Germany. He gave in. "He… he's taking pictures of people…"

Germany sighed. Italy hadn't needed to say more for Germany to assume the resulting photo was likely to be embarrassing if his brother was sneaking about to obtain it (since if the to-be-photographed nation had agreed beforehand, there was no need to keep plans for it a secret). "Again?"

Italy gave a few hesitant nods.

"I'll go after him… Stay here, will you, Italy?" Germany said, and at another nod from Italy went to chase down his brother. Italy didn't find out if Germany actually ended up finding the silverette or not, as Prussia ended up missing the meeting entirely.

And thus Italy was left in the room alone for a while before the other nations began to file in and he gained more countries to talk to and joke with. When Spain came in and asked Italy about Romano, Italy informed him that his brother had told him there was work to be done. Spain, though seeming disheartened by the news, accepted what Italy told him and went to go find other nations that he wanted to talk to. As Spain left, Italy went to do the same- greeting America, England, France other nations that he knew.

-o-

Italy noted Iceland didn't appear to be feeling his best during the meeting, looking downtrodden and spending a good deal of it either slumped over on the table or resting his head in his hands. When the other countries were finished discussing the states of their own economies and policies and debating between each other over particular details, the topic moved to the economy of the hosting country and the effect it had with the rest of the Scandinavian nations. The island nation and Russia were the countries that did most of the negotiations concerning how his economy could be helped, although Iceland accepted the offers of help from most of the other nations readily.

With the first half of the meeting going smoothly, a break was called. As the nations filed out, talking amongst each other about their feelings on their own politics and what was going on in their lives, Italy told Germany that he would be right back and went over to Russia and China. The two of them sat next to each other, China explaining to Russia something interesting and Russia seeming to be listening with a patient yet somewhat uninterested expression on his face.

When Italy came around, however, Russia tensed but gave the smaller nation a smile. "Hello, Italy," he said. Italy rubbed his arm and averted his eyes, suddenly unsure of what to say. China looked between Italy and Russia then got up.

"I'm going to get some lunch. It's good to see you, Italy," China said, seeming to sense that Italy had come to talk with Russia privately. He then scooted his chair away from the table and left the two other nations alone – save for Germany and anyone else who was in the room.

Russia watched China go and then turned his attention back to Italy, whose eyes were still averted. His smile towards the brunet was strained. He wasn't in the best of moods, with being reminded how elections for his country were coming up by the way political propaganda had suddenly started to show up everywhere. The ensuing political in-fighting was now giving him a massive, seemingly never-ending headache these past few days. All he felt like doing was showing up for what related to his government and business and then knocking himself out on a bed with a few painkillers.

He certainly was in no mood for chit-chat of any kind, unless it was either brief or was about something he'd be able to half tune-out (in the way of China's conversation). "Did you want something, Italy?"

"I-I… I wanted to apologize, about before… I-I didn't mean to push like that…" Italy said, shifting on his feet.

Russia's smiled widened. "You won't again, da? I've had enough grief about it from the other countries. You should feel lucky that all I did was put a hole in your house and leave. If you were any other nation, I might have sent you hurtling into that sea of yours."

Italy frowned. "Ve, I'm allowed to stick up for someone who's close to me. I'm not afraid of getting hurt for them."

Russia let out a small chuckle. "You might not, but your friend Germany might, da?"

Italy averted his eyes. It was true that Germany would be deeply concerned about the prospect of him getting hurt.

"Ah, so you are still so clingy to someone who betrayed you when you were failing. Someone who said they'd come to your aid and didn't," Russia said observantly.

"Germany didn't betray me… he helped me many times…" Italy said stubbornly. He could see in the corner of his eye Germany watching him with concern. Italy remembered all of the times Germany had come to him when he'd called, even if it was for something as simple as running out of water because he'd used it all making pasta in the desert.

"Nyet, I don't think you quite understand what I mean. He abandoned your brother, da? Thus, he abandoned Italy as an entire nation. It doesn't matter how much he helped you, or kept you… what was it he called it? Ah - protected, I remember," Russia said. "Where was he when your navy was defeated? During the air strikes? You remember, da? A betrayal of your trust in him."

"It wasn't a betrayal… he couldn't have helped then… because… because…"

Russia scoffed. "Because he was too involved with you, da? Putting you under practical house arrest and squeezing out what made you an individual nation, after all your hard work getting out of Austria's grasp. He gave the nod to kill and nearly work to death your people after he said he wouldn't touch them."

"Don't you bring that up. He met with the allies so I wouldn't be subjected to that anymore. He got killed by his own boss after he repeated his will to not want to fight anymore. After _I_ told him I didn't want him to fight anymore so that maybe he'd stay safe," Italy said, tensing at the memory.

"That's not important. You might remember how after you finally listened to your brother and surrendered to the allies, you learned about yet another planned attack on Italy by German forces. What he'd found out from his boss that he refused to tell you, even after being so attentive to your safety. I'd still call him a traitor."

"Stop _talking_ about him like that!" Italy shouted angrily and tossed the water in the glass sitting next to Russia into the other nation's face, making everyone in the room turn their heads towards the two of them.

"Is everything alright?" Germany asked, walking over and looking between Italy's agitated state and Russia's calm but now dangerous demeanor. "Talking about who like what?"

"That is none of your business, da?" Russia said, smiling coldly at Germany and using the end of his scarf to dry off his face. "Italy came to talk to me. It is our conversation."

"I have a right to know why he just shouted and splashed the water at you like that," Germany said, frowning.

"Germany, it's nothing I can't handle, really…" Italy said quietly.

"Then tell me when happened here," Germany replied.

"Ve, I'll tell you later, okay?" Italy said, a glint in his eye that Germany had really only seen a few times before.

Germany looked between Italy and Russia once again. "Fine. But I want to know later," he said before hesitantly walking away. This time, he remained within earshot, but pretended to be busy and not notice what was going on between the bickering nations.

Russia briefly examined how wet the scarf had gotten, and then gave a childish chuckle. Italy nowadays seemed to keep surprising him to no end. However, he figured it was best if he stopped pushing his trade partner to such mental limits for the moment and try to divert the subject to a friendlier topic. "We'll leave the matter alone for now. You're amusing when you're angry, did you know? You should show that side of you more often."

Italy jumped when Russia put a hand on his shoulder and got up.

The smile the blonde wore had turned much friendlier. "You'll come to visit Russia sometime, da? I believe you've only ever seen where we have our meetings. If you're able and want to come, I'd like to show you the rest, or at least around the finer points of where I live."

Italy could see Germany still eyeing him with concern from across the table, ready and positioned to come over if it was necessary. His previous anger with Russia lingered, but it had mostly diminished into nervousness.

"Ve… I-I um…" Italy said.

"Think about it, da? I should get a break from work in a few weeks and you can come see my home then, if you're available, da?" Russia said.

Italy stood silent for a moment. "Ve, I-I'll think about it..."

"Good. Now, I'm going to go see where China has gone to. He had a rather intriguing story about America I want to finish listening to," Russia replied, taking his hand off Italy's shoulder and beginning to walk out. In reality, China's story hadn't been overly interesting and was more along the lines of venting out frustrations, but it gave Russia and excuse to end his talk with Italy.

Italy watched him leave and gave a small sigh. He had wanted to ask the large nation about his relationship with China, but wasn't able to make the words form in his mouth and let Russia go without saying a word.

"Is everything okay with Russia, Italy?" Germany asked, walking over to where Italy stood.

Italy smiled. He still felt hurt by Russia calling Germany a traitor and the biting words about what had happened during the time of the Italian Social Republic, but he would put on the front for Germany that it was behind him. "Ve, everything's great! I was able to make up with him, I think, on what I'd wanted to make up with him about! Even though I splashed the water in his face… He actually didn't seem as bothered by that as I thought he'd be…"

"Make up with him?" Germany repeated confusedly. "Why would you need to?"

"Ah, ve…" Italy started. He'd forgotten he hadn't told Germany about the true reasoning why Russia had left so suddenly.

"Did you have a disagreement with Russia before the meeting?" Germany questioned, trying in his head to guess on the reason for Italy's hesitancy. From what Germany had observed, normally Italy wasn't one to boast if he'd had an argument with anyone, especially if the fight had only been verbal. The only reason the smaller nation would go to someone else is if the fight had gotten physical and Italy felt he needed protection.

"Ve… a little…" Italy admitted. "B-but it was only because I provoked him when I shouldn't have… he had his reasons to be upset with me…"

Germany gave a stiff nod. "What did you provoke him about?"

"Prussia…" Italy said meekly.

Germany instantly understood. Of course that might have been a sore topic for the cold nation, he rationalized. After World War II, Russia had been repeatedly told off for the actions of his government and military to the point where during a meeting between the allied powers (without Italy present, as Italy was taking care of his own country with Romano), Germany heard from America that he had gone into a rage and nearly attacked a few of them. The allies had backed off from questioning the personification after that, focusing on having more talks strictly with the nation's government and trying their best to get Russia's opinion on the matter through to them.

It had taken a while, but the new strategy had eventually worked - save for the coming of the Cold War with America and Russia's Soviet Union falling apart soon afterwards. After Prussia was finally released, he'd told Germany that the last few years of living with the tall nation was when he'd started to see Russia pushing the very definition of insanity, particularly when he was the only one left in the house—shouting in pain on the floor one moment and beating him to within inches of his life the next before treating Prussia as if everything was well in the world; even after Prussia had learned not to investigate Russia's screams.

Once again, the allied powers had attempted to talk to Russia about Prussia's state of health, but the tall nation would have none of it. If the topic was brought up, Russia would either snap at whoever mentioned it or would leave the meeting entirely.

"Hm, I see," Germany said simply. Perhaps, then, he pondered, the reason the two of them were fighting today was because Italy's attempt at reconciling the situation hadn't gone over well and had boiled over into something more scathing. "Would you like lunch, Italy? We still have a half hour left before the break is over."

Italy's expression brightened. "Ve, lunch sounds good!"

Lunch, of course, for Italy, had meant revealing what his outburst to Russia had been about. Germany had paled and had gone scarily quiet as Italy told him. Germany then had asked if Italy held any thoughts like that towards him. However, he seemed to relax when Italy reassured him that the smaller nation didn't think that way about what had happened, and changed the topic to what was happening with his football team.

-o-

The next half of the meeting didn't go as smoothly. The conversation topic had turned to oil and how to deal with issues of terrorism. After a collective groan and begrudging agreements that these things were indeed major issues, the countries in the room began to voice their views. However, small protests from the various world nations over some of the opinions of the great eight erupted into full-scale shouting matches where even more commanding nations like Germany felt they had little control. Eventually, some agreements were reached, but for a lot of nations the meeting ended without any definite conclusion.

When the meeting was over, the personifications of the world's nations bid their goodbyes to one another and began to head out. Italy gave one last glance at Russia, who had walked over to talk to an uncomfortable-looking Iceland, then followed Germany. He had previously made arrangements with the blonde to stay at the same hotel so that Italy had someone he could follow as well as so he could stay next to the Germanic brothers in general for the duration of their time in Iceland.

However, before Italy was able to leave he found Russia coming back up to him.

"Can I speak with you for a moment, Italy?" Russia asked.

Italy questioningly looked over to Germany, who gave a slight nod, then looked back over at Russia. "Okay."

"I wanted to apologize for what I said to you earlier. I was… not in a good frame of mind and spoke out of stress. I realize… it wasn't deserved."

Despite the wording, the tone was almost mechanic as if Russia didn't truly mean it; and in part, he didn't, though he recognized what he'd said _had_ been _slightly_ uncalled for—no matter how sour his mood was at the time. The reason he was doing this in the first place was because China had noticed the water on his scarf and asked about it, then had grilled the taller nation into at least attempting to amend his and Italy's relationship. Not that Russia would have let anyone else order him around in that way, but his and China's friendship ran close enough he let the Asian get away with it.

The only downside to doing so, however, was that he knew China was going to question on if he'd done as asked and how he'd delivered the apology as soon as they saw each other again. Russia couldn't think of any way he could avoid the matter without damaging his relationship with China further.

Thus, he gave Italy his best shot at an apology and prayed things might go back to normal.

Italy smiled and looked downwards. "Ve… Thanks…" he murmured.

It wasn't the reaction Russia had been expecting and a strange sense of frustration and disappointment came over him. It was confusing. He'd expected Italy to more instantly brighten up with the apology, but it appeared his harsh words had struck a deeper chord than he'd previously imagined and such a wound would not be easy to fix. But perhaps with this apology and the possibility of Italy coming to visit, he'd have a chance to make amends with the smaller nation.

"Well, I hope you will still consider coming to visit me. Hopefully I will see you again in the next meeting, so you can give me your answer then," Russia said.

Italy nodded once more. "I'll think about it tonight…"

Russia gave a small smile, though continued to not feel fully assured that the situation had been rectified. "I will see you tomorrow, then," he told Italy, then left.

-o-

That night, Italy lay on his stomach on the bed in Germany's room, facing the bed's headboard and fretting over what Russia had said to him about making a trip to his home. He'd thought a good deal about Russia's offer, but was torn between genuinely wanting to see Russia's sights and still being nervous about being around the personification in general. Russia had so far not done anything physically aggressive towards him, but Italy couldn't help but imagine that all changing once he was on Russia's home turf. Russia could very well let himself loose on Italy and there would be little the smaller, vastly weaker nation could do. The other nations might come to rescue him, sure, but probably only after the damage had already been done.

The thoughts swirled around in his head.

"Why are you thinking about going to Russia's?" Germany asked inquiringly after Italy had announced that he was thinking of the plan, turning his head to watch Italy from his position at the room's desk where he'd been doing some paperwork.

"Ve, h-he invited me," Italy said. "Not as a business trip, but to see the sights… and he said he'd let me think about it… but it's _Russia_… what if something happens?"

"If you don't want to go, then tell him the answer is 'no'," Germany replied calmly, turning around in his chair more fully to face Italy. "B-besides," he said quietly, as if embarrassed, "I...didn't like the way he spoke to you, earlier today...Or how you said he was so easily provoked during his last stay, no matter what the circumstances were..."

"Ve… but he apologized, when I heard he practically _never_ apologizes…" Italy said quietly, burying his face into the pillow. "Ah, I don't know what to do…"

Germany sighed and got up from his chair to move over to the bed before sitting next to Italy. Timidly, his hand moved to Italy's back in an attempt at comfort and rubbed in a hopefully soothing motion. "Some other time, then," Germany suggested. "But if he's already behaving like this..."

Italy frowned. "He never touched me though... I-I mean, he smacked my hand away from him once, but he's never... Ve, Germany, you really think he might be more violent if I go?"

"I...I didn't say that," Germany stuttered quickly. "He's been doing better, lately, but he has always been...unpredictable. If he is already in a mood... It might be better for you to wait before accepting his invitation."

Italy turned his head to fully look at Germany. His eyes still showed hesitance about Germany's opinion and the situation as a whole, but he gave a small nod. Germany had spoken the truth about Russia still being a little unpredictable, and usually had more sense than he did about these types of things anyway. "Okay... I'll wait a while, then..."

Germany gave a small, almost invisible smile of relief, "He'll calm down soon enough," he reassured Italy. "And then you can visit. Just...please try not to provoke him."

Italy gave another nod at this and a small smile of his own. "Ve, I'll try. He's scary when he's mad, anyway..." he said. Then, with averted eyes and a few fingers playing with the corner of one of the bed's pillows, added absentmindedly, "About as scary as when Germany gets mad... scarier, maybe..." He looked back up at Germany. "Ah – but I'm not afraid of getting hurt if it's a good reason to be! He told me he wanted to see that side of me more often, but I don't know exactly what he meant by that, ve..."

_He thinks I'm as scary as Russia?_ Germany thought, trying to keep the disappointment from showing on his face. "Ah...probably best not to think on it," Germany said. "He can be strange, sometimes. You know this as well as I."

Italy gave a hum in agreement. "True, he can be a little strange..." he said, then after a pause asked, "Ve, Germany, if something did happen... you'd still come get me, right? T-though I wouldn't want to see Germany hurt, either... m-maybe that's no good to ask from you... I should be able to take care of myself after all…"

Germany's eyes widened a bit in surprise before his expression softened a bit, "You shouldn't think such things," he said, the natural sternness of his voice masking its affection. "Haven't I always come for you, before?"

"A-ah, ve... I-I'm sorry, Germany..." Italy said, burying his face into the pillow again, speaking hurriedly. "I-I just... before Russia made fun of my clinging to you, a-and I wanted to... sorrysorrysorry..."

Germany's eyes widened in panic at Italy's reaction and he made an awkward attempt at comforting him. "Italy, stop!" he commanded before wincing at his own tone. "I...I don't mind," he said softly. He really was terrible at this...

Italy tensed under the harsh command, but he hesitantly looked back up at Germany. "Ve... R-really…?"

Germany looked away, his face flushing slightly. "Of course not," Germany said, "I'd hate it if something were to happen to you, especially if it's because you had some foolish notion that you shouldn't call for help."

Italy smiled at this and relaxed his body against the bed, feeling reassured about one of his deeper worries. His eyes slipped closed. "Thank you Germany... that makes me happy to hear, ve..."

Germany looked over towards Italy. On seeing the slow rise and fall of Italy's back that signaled the small nation was asleep, Germany let show a small smile. It figured that Italy would go fall asleep in _his_ bed. Germany supposed that it was inevitable that either this happened or he would wake up with Italy lying next to him in the morning.

When Prussia came back from his adventuring, Germany had promptly given the silverette the key card to Italy's room with orders for him to sleep there. After some complaining, teasing about small changes in Germany's facial expression and seeing Italy's sleeping face (and demanding to be allowed to give the small nation a big hug, which Germany denied), Prussia finally gave in and slept in Italy's hotel room. After Prussia had left, Germany turned off the lights and lied down in what used to be Prussia's designated bed. As he fell asleep, he wondered if he would _still_ wake up the next morning to find the Italian curled up next to him.

* * *

><p>Not many notes for this chapter. There's a reference to the Italian Social Republic in here, and to how the Germans treated some of the members of the North Italian military, but that's about all.<p>

Thanks again to my awesome beta :)


	6. Chapter 6: Apologies and connections

Disclaimer: Don't own anything aside from this bit of work... :C

Warnings: None really?

Okay, so here's the new chapter finally! Hope you all enjoy! Many thanks again to those who've been reviewing, favorite-ing and story alert-ing! Next chapter is being chipped away at, bit by bit~

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><p>"What the hell do you think you're doing here?"<p>

Russia blinked in surprise when the door to Italy's hotel room unexpectedly opened to reveal a bed-headed, irritated and very suspicious Prussia. Thankfully, the man was tired enough that he kept his voice low, as the last thing Russia wanted was to make a scene in the hallway.

"I was hoping to see Veneziano," Russia simply stated. Prussia's eyes narrowed at the mention of his friend's name.

"And?" Prussia questioned.

Russia frowned. "And what?"

"And what were you thinking of doing with him once you saw him? Why the hell do you even believe he was here?"

Russia straightened his posture a little at the interrogating tone, but figured Prussia being so protective over Italy was understandable.

"I simply wanted to see and perhaps talk with him. You may remember how we had a list available of where we were all staying, including the room numbers, for if an emergency happened and one of us needed to be contacted quickly. This hotel was also recommended by our host, so it's not wholly unexpected that I might be staying here as well, da? So if he is not staying in this room, I'd appreciate it if you told me which room he _is_ in," Russia explained.

Prussia eyed his former captor warily. "I don't believe you," he said after a moment of silence.

"I don't care if you do," Russia told the silverette before him, his calm tone barely covering how his patience was wearing thinner by the moment. "If you would simply tell me where Veneziano is, we can be done with this."

"Fuck off. I'm not telling you anything," Prussia spat and went to shut the door in Russia's face, only to have it blocked from closing fully by a thick boot.

"You're really starting to annoy me with your attitude. Why not? Are you now in control of which people he sees and which ones he doesn't?" Russia continued, smiling coldly.

"When it comes to you, I am. Get out of here," Prussia replied, trying to shove the door hard enough into Russia's foot make the man move it. The door to the neighbor's room then opened to reveal a concerned and rather tired-looking Germany.

"What's going…? Russia, what are you doing here? It's nearly six thirty in the morning…" Germany drawled out, looking between Prussia standing in the opening to his door and Russia with his foot in the gap.

"Ah, Ludwig," Russia breathed out, ignoring Prussia's groan upon his brother becoming involved, "I wonder if you could let me know where Veneziano is? I'd like to talk with him."

"He's sleeping," Germany told the other nation simply. "What's the need to talk with him this early in the morning?"

"I wanted to give him my apologies for the… harsh… things that I said yesterday before today's meeting," Russia said.

"You apologized yesterday for that," Germany pointed out, confusion written on his face.

"Da, but I feel it wasn't enough of one," Russia replied, slightly averting his eyes as he smiled.

"…I see," Germany replied after a moment, his face contorting into a thoughtful expression. "Well, he likes to sleep in late. So I'll tell him what you wanted to say and you can see him at the meeting."

Russia's smile grew slightly strained. He wondered what was with the Germanic brothers and the sudden desire to keep Italy away from him. He had acted threatening towards the smaller nation, yes, but it wasn't as if he had ever actually touched Italy. Unless they feared that he might—which, while a reasonable explanation as Russia understood the want to keep Italy safe from harm, it was also unwarranted in light that he hadn't. "I'd rather I tell him myself."

Germany regarded Russia for a moment longer and then let out a small sigh before turning to go back inside his own room. "Just wait a moment, then. I'll bring him out here."

"Thank you," Russia said, removing his foot from Prussia's door. However, Prussia didn't close the door as expected. Instead, he kept it open to watch Russia's actions.

After a few minutes of waiting, Italy came out of Germany's room, one hand rubbing his eyes tiredly and running a hand through sleep-mussed hair. He wore shorts as well as a tank-top, though Russia couldn't help but hold admiration for the smaller nation's lithe yet still muscular figure as he stretched. Germany followed behind him, watching his friend from a distance.

Russia was slightly perturbed by how he and Italy still had an audience, but brushed the feeling off for the sake of getting his message to Italy.

"Ve, 'Van… you're up early…" Italy began, lingering sleep slurring the taller nation's given name. An arm was brought up to absentmindedly rub towards the top of the other arm.

"Da, I wanted to catch you before the meeting started," Russia explained.

Italy looked at Russia in slight confusion. "What for?"

Russia surmised in his head that Germany must have left the reasoning for Italy's awakening for him to explain. He silently thanked the other blond for it. "I wanted to apologize again for yesterday."

"Ve, again?" Italy replied. "Why twice?"

"I… didn't feel like I quite got my apologies through to you before. You still seemed upset," Russia told him.

Italy frowned and averted his eyes, shifting nervously onto one foot. "Ve, something like that… simple apologies don't fix it right away…"

Russia was silent for a moment. The situation had grown more confusing. Since when was an apology from him _not_ readily accepted, aside from when he'd placed physical harm onto another nation? Particularly when apologies from him were generally so far and few between, most nations were too stunned to think of not accepting them. "…I understand. I'll see you at the meeting, then… I hope you still might take me up on the offer I gave once you've thought about it a little as well."

"Okay. I'll see you there," Italy replied with a nod, suddenly looking unsure. Russia watched the expression for a brief moment, then turned on his heel to go back to his own room. There was no sense in wasting time just standing around when progress on the matter at hand was not being made.

-o-

Russia felt further disappointment when Italy later came up to him and had refused his offer to come and sight-see around his home on the basis that he'd found out he'd be busy around the time the taller nation had suggested. _Of course, maybe that's expected… _he thought.

Italy _had_ apologized for their initial tiff about Prussia. Russia sighed. He should have left it at that and perhaps…

_Perhaps what? What am I expecting out of this, anyway? _Russia questioned himself and left his thoughts at that. Italy could do what he wanted and Russia would continue on with his own life with no assumptions of anything creating barriers between that.

When the days of freedom from his work came about, Russia found himself feeling the pangs of loneliness and the need to simply be around somebody. In an attempt to find things to do with his time and help to ease these feelings, he called over Lithuania. The other nation was hesitant -not that he could be blamed considering his history with Russia- but stayed for about three days before going back home.

Russia had then invited China over. The Asian had been unsure about the request like Lithuania, questioning Russia's motives and reasoning for the visit. China also expressed how he was only coming over for the sake of being friends and wasn't about to fuel any of Russia's possible hopes for being more than friends.

Regardless, it made Russia's day a little brighter when he finally heard the words, "I'll come over."

With Lithuania, the two had spent little time other than in the general vicinity of his home, with Lithuania staying as un-provocative as possible while at the same time almost subconsciously falling back to how he'd been under Soviet rule. However, with China the two of them took a trip into Moscow; seeing the major sights and doing everything they had enjoyed doing before their split—only without their previous intimacy. If it didn't concern politics or history or the matters of relationships between nations in general, it was talked and joked about. The oddities of the humans they lived around, the changing weather and how it manifested in their countries, sports, how traditions were being both taken on and lost.

When Russia and China's time together came to an end, with Russia having to once again go back to his more formal duties as a country, the tall nation felt significantly more… whole. Even when there was still a part of his mind that nagged him about something missing. After he'd seen China back to the airport for the other nation's trip home and was driving back, he made another call to Italy.

"Ciao! How are you, Russia?" Italy asked after a few rings.

"I am fine," Russia responded, "and you?"

"Ve, I'm really good!" Italy said. A somewhat muffled, "Wait a moment, Germany! I'm on the phone! It's Russia!" was then heard.

"You're at Germany's?" Russia asked. He felt a little miffed that Italy had said he was busy, only to now find that being at Germany's was what he'd apparently been busy _with_.

"Yeah," Italy said. "I really was planning on being busy with my boss… but he invited me over, and Germany was really hard to refuse because he doesn't get much free time as it is these days."

"I understand," Russia replied. "I was actually wondering when the next time was that you _were_ free. I was hoping perhaps you'd like to take that time to visit my country."

There was a large pause on Italy's end.

"Italy?" Russia asked.

"Ve, one moment… I'm just thinking," Italy said, pausing for a moment more. "I… I think next week actually… but that's the 29th so there's a probability I'll be busy for those few days, too…"

Russia frowned in confusion for a moment, wondering why the date would be so important. He then remembered, having been there himself; it would be that very next day that Germany was killed by his leader, just before the man's own suicide. After Russia's troops uncovered him from a covered-over bomb crater, it was found that he had been shot repeatedly, including in the head. Although, Germany had not been burned as his leader was–perhaps thankfully, because as it made care for the personification of Germany easier, who knew of the further implications of what it might have caused in his country.

When Russia had found Germany as his troops surrounded and searched the bunker, it was easy to imagine the trauma of a nation's own boss aiming at them and actually _firing_. Russia had been shot repeatedly once through the chest when he was caught being complacent around a trusted boss and knew how painfully _easy _it was to become that way with the supposed leader of the country one personified. The tall nation still remembered the expression on Prussia's face when he'd brought out the bloodied body of his brother. It had taken a few months for Germany's wounds to heal but a few years longer to come back into the world of the living. Memory loss from a bullet to the brain had then taken several _decades_ to come back fully.

However, in both cases, the state of the country reflected the state of the personification—just as the personification reflected how well the country fared. In Russia's case, his death had caused the 1921 famine and he had only regained his health when his population had recovered. For Germany, because the largest injury had been to the brain, the longer his memories stayed buried the longer it took his government and people to come back together into a more solid nation.

Thus, Russia could easily sympathize with Italy's want to be near Germany as the date rolled around, in case the nation still had lingering memories of the event; even with a good few decades having gone past.

"I understand," Russia said. "The following week? Perhaps around the 7th of May?"

"Ve, that sounds good! Although, something I just remembered… Germany had wanted to come with me…" Italy replied with a worried tone.

Russia frowned. He could understand the reasoning for Germany wanting to come and it wasn't that he particularly minded the stoic nation's presence, but talking to Italy alone was starting to become like something out of the olden days- where Germany was the father he had to go through to take out his daughter for an outing. Or like Italy was Germany's colony that he needed approval with Germany to establish trade relations with (_yes, that's definitely the better analogy,_ Russia thought to himself, shaking out the disturbing images from his brain of Italy in a Russian noble's dress). In any case, he was quickly growing irritated with Germany's sudden interference in all of this.

"I'd only been expecting you to come," Russia attempted to say in the least annoyed tone as possible.

"Ve, I know, but… " Italy said, suddenly feeling trapped between his want to go to the tall nation's home and Germany's concern over him. How could he rectify this? "I… kind of wanted to bring Germany along with me myself, too…?"

Russia narrowed his eyes and bit back a curse, thinking of the reasoning why Italy would want this then remembering his rather violent outburst at Italy's home. He'd felt such a thrill, then, at seeing the other nation so frightened of his power, but now… all he could think of was that of _course_ Italy would now be that much more nervous to be alone with him when Russia wanted to be alone with the other nation. It was unrealistic to have thought otherwise, and the realization somehow hurt now more than it ever had before, as he wasn't sure how to repair the situation. Intimidation and threats in attempt to bring Italy by his side would only ever go so far with the small nation as opposed to another country- history had shown proof of that many a time.

The only method he could think of to let Italy soften his boundaries with him again was to do what he'd done when America or China or even Germany had backed away from him—let the other nation have his way until he was more comfortable being around him to let himself be alone.

"… Fine, he can come," Russia finally responded, fighting against every voice in his head that told him to either give this up or give Italy and Germany both an earful of his opinions. At the very least, he could do the latter later on, at least to Germany.

"Ve, thank you! I'll tell him you agreed!" Italy exclaimed. "I have to go now, though. It was good talking to you, Russia!"

"Da, I will see you soon. Give my best to Germany, hm?"

"Ve, I will. Ciao!" Italy responded, both parties hanging up the phone soon afterwards.

Russia placed his cell phone down onto the passenger seat of his car. So it had turned out he would have to wait a few more weeks now until Italy and Germany arrived, but on the flipside it gave him all the more time for him to get some work done and for his thoughts to settle.

He wasn't even sure anymore over why he'd let himself read so far into this, now that he thought about it. Italy's visit was to re-establish their friendship and solidify business ties. There simply wasn't room to allow for more.

With that reasoning, there was no reason why Germany _couldn't_ come. China could come back over too for all he cared, and his beloved sister Ukraine. The more the merrier, as the saying went.

-o-

"Ve, Germany! Did you hear? Russia invited me over again, for the 7th this time, and he said you could come along too!" Italy said, bouncing over to where Germany had been preparing his dogs to go out for a walk.

Germany looked up from hooking a leash onto the collar of his golden retriever; his other dogs shoving their heads on and under his arm in want of attention for themselves, tails wagging excitedly. "That's good to hear. But I'm surprised he was so agreeable…"

"Ve, he sounded a lot calmer on the phone than he was at the meeting, so I think he must've gotten a chance to settle down…" Italy explained. Germany hummed in understanding.

"So, initially I told him that perhaps we could have done next week, but then I remembered how I'd wanted to stay with you that week… So he suggested the 7th and I said that was okay," Italy continued on, taking a few of the dogs' leashes from Germany as he was handed them.

"You know… you don't have to stay with me next week if you don't want to… you can always just stay home…" Germany said quietly.

"Ve, I want to! I don't want to be anywhere else," Italy responded determinedly.

Germany gave a nod, a nearly imperceptible smile on his features.

"So don't worry about me not being there, ve?" Italy continued.

Germany sighed, "As long as you feel you aren't neglecting your duties," he said. "I don't want you to jeopardize your foreign relations."

Italy frowned. "Ve, I'm not jeopardizing anything, making you're alright with... what happened," he said quietly, his hands gripping the leashes a little tighter and ignoring how the dogs attempted to pull him over to the door in their impatience.

Germany simply shrugged and began to lead his dogs out the door. "Why wouldn't I be alright with it?" he asked. "You have your own business to take care of."

Italy followed. "Every year you've gotten nightmares about it, though... and then you lock yourself up in your room for days... my business doesn't matter when you get that upset and bosses are usually good about letting me go off on long trips anyways... Ve, as long as I do my work when I get back..."

Germany stiffened at the mention of nightmares, stifling a memory. "They're...not as bad as they once were."

"Ve... Prussia told me earlier you still got them pretty badly, though..." Italy said concernedly.

Germany turned his face away, trying to hide his embarrassment while making a mental note to kill Prussia later.

Italy frowned again. "Ve, Germany... Prussia was right, wasn't he?" he said softly, his tone softening to show sensitivity about the subject.

"I-Italy..." Germany stuttered, not wanting to admit his weakness.

"It's not bad if you do, Germany... I'm sure every nation has something they have nightmares about..." Italy responded.

"I know that," Germany said. "But...I should be able to handle such things."

"Ve, but you're always so nice to me... when a battle was coming up, and I had those memories about what Austria did in World War I and I had a hard time moving on from them, you were always there... I want to be there for you like that, even if the dreams and reasons might be different..." Italy replied.

A soft expression graced Germany's features at Italy's words. "Alright," he said quietly before trying to regain his usual stoic appearance. "I suppose it's no use trying to talk you out of it then?"

Italy smiled. "That's right."

Germany gave a small, genuine smile that only Italy could seem to drag out and transferred both of his dogs to one hand so that he could gently lead Italy with a shy hand on his arm. "Thank you," he murmured, quietly enough that he almost hoped Italy wouldn't be able to hear.

Italy did the same with his own set of dogs, falling more into step with Germany. "Besides, we're friends... and close enough now that it's hard to even hear about you being upset about something, you know? Friends like that look out for each other, even if the enemy's invisible... right, Germany?"

Germany's cheeks flushed at this, but the gentle smile remained. "I know," Germany said softly. After all they had been through, it was amazing how close they had become. Simple friendship no longer seemed deep enough to describe it, had not been deep enough for a long time. "I...I feel the same about you."

Italy's smile widened. "Ve, that makes me really happy to know... So, I'm staying over this coming week, okay?"

"I suppose," Germany said, trying to hide an amused smirk. "If I had said 'no' you would have just snuck into my bed, anyway."

"Ve, that's because your mattress is more comfortable than the one in the guest room..." Italy said, then added in musing, "Even though I know you told me how they're both exactly the same kind..." He paused for a moment in thought.

"Of course," Germany said, trying to hide his amusement.

-o-

It was during next week, when the G-8's respective bosses had decided to hold their meeting in Berlin (the nations making a decision that they might as well hold a small meeting pertaining to their specific relations as well, then spend the rest of the time that their bosses were there simply being together without the pressure of their duties as nations), that Russia really began to watch Germany's behavior with Italy.

If there happened to be a gap in time where Russia and the smaller nation would be able to hold a casual conversation, Italy was always—always—pulled away by Germany for some reason or another.

The meeting for the nations' bosses itself spanned across a total of three days. By the third day, Russia began to get concerned that this was becoming a problem. However, there were no pressing matters to speak with Italy about at the moment as it was, so he let the matter go. The nations were filing out of the meeting room they'd decided to meet in, heading to what Russia knew to be a bar that was willing to close doors for all aside from them (so that they could get as drunk as they liked and no humans would be involved if any violence ensued).

He waited until America was done hassling him to go with them and everyone else had left, wanting to go to a bar he knew served much better vodka than what the bar the other nations were going to thought passed as the drink (the vodka they carried left a sour taste on the tongue, when good vodka left little to no taste). Besides, he suspected there were other nations besides him that were likely to part ways with the group when they got the chance.

To his surprise, when he left the room into the hallway he found Italy waiting, looking in the direction the group had gone but leaning casually against the wall, arms loosely held in front of him. Russia closed the door behind him quietly - a habit he had gained from days of having to perform espionage and needing the ability to slip in and out quietly, even with his tall frame.

"You aren't going with the rest of them?" he asked.

Italy started and then looked over towards Russia in surprise before a wide smile appeared on his face. "Ve, I am. But I can find my way there, even if I stay behind for a bit."

"Da, I see," Russia said. Then, curious, he added: "Why are you waiting?"

"For you, ve," Italy responded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Perhaps it was, although Russia could have named at least five other reasons why the Italian might _not_ have been waiting for him. All of those reasons would have also been just as legitimate.

"You were waiting for me? Is there something important you wanted to tell me?" Russia questioned. He could count on one hand the number of people who would have waited for him to tell him something _unimportant_ when there was something vastly more entertaining to do with their time. Italy was not one of those people.

Although to Russia's slight surprise, Italy shook his head on the question. "Ve, not really. I've just really been wanting to talk to you like this and Germany's been pulling me away for this and that whenever I get a chance with you, so…"

Russia gave a nod. He understood. "What did you want to talk about, then?"

Italy absentmindedly picked at his (obviously designer-brand, by the look of the quality) shirt nervously, looking down. Russia gathered from this that the other nation had not thought out in much depth how the conversation might go. "Um… Well…"

"Follow me, then, da? You can think up a topic on the way to the bar I'm going to," Russia said.

"You're not going to the same bar as Germany?" Italy questioned, though immediately realization seemed to dawn on the nation as soon as he saw Russia's head shake. "Ve, sorry. I forgot how you usually don't when the meetings are here…"

"It's alright. Do you want to come with me, then?" Russia asked.

"Ve…" Italy responded nervously and gave a look towards where the other nations had gone.

"You do not have to. I will be seeing you soon after this, so we can talk then," Russia said, after a moment of watching Italy fidget in place and growing impatient with Italy's inability to make a decision. He then began to walk in the direction of the others, even though the goal was not the same.

"W-wait! I'll come, I'll come! Ve, don't walk so fast, I can't keep up with you!" Italy shouted after Russia had briskly turned the corner in the hall and had gone out of sight before bounding after the taller nation.

Russia looked over his shoulder and smiled amusedly. "Good that you can come," he told the slightly panting brunette. "Germany won't worry after you?" he teased.

Italy frowned. "He… He might, but he'll understand. I think, anyway."

Russia hummed in response. "Alright," he said. When they got to Russia's rental car and got in, he mentioned that he'd drive the other nation back to his own car after Italy wanted to leave.

-o-

"Ve… so then I'm trying to avoid these shells coming down at me in this total wasteland, 'n I look over, n' there's this cute little patch of purple flowers that're completely untouched! Can you imagine that?" Italy tells the tall blonde next to him.

Russia himself was uncomfortable with sharing most of his own war stories, as he was sure a good many of the nations were. However, he enjoyed the retelling of parts of it from Italy's perspective and let the other nation continue walking down memory lane with little interruption.

The small nation was draped over the top over the bar counter, unable to even keep himself fully upright while Russia sat next to him, looking sober to anyone who looked at him be despite the number of vodka shots and combinations he'd had.

"I think it is time we go, da?" Russia asked, softly patting the smaller nation on the back.

"…Maybe," Italy said. "I'unno if I wanna go back to Germany's, though… he always gets 'set with me when I drink this much…"

Russia could understand the other blonde's reasoning.

"We should still go, regardless," he responded, "I cannot have you getting completely incapacitated."

Italy frowned at him, then nodded and stood up with Russia after the bill was slipped by Russia to the bartender. At least, he tried to stand on his own, but only succeeded in stumbling forward and falling on top of Russia, face-planting himself into the other nation's chest.

Russia shook his head, then used both arms to hold Italy upright as they walked to the door, ignoring the inquisitive looks from the other humans in the bar. It was foolish of him to have not stopped Italy from drinking this much sooner.

When they got to the car, he opened the door and helped Italy get in before getting into the car himself. After this, he drove to Germany's, thinking the idea a better one than letting Italy find his own way home. Not that Italy objected, as he passed out within fifteen minutes of starting the drive.

Germany was the man who answered door when Russia had finally gotten to the other nation's home. Thankfully, Germany seemed to understand the situation from a single glance at Russia and the unconscious Italy held against him before giving an exasperated sigh. Russia noted how the man looked flushed, but not drunk enough to have lost comprehension of the situation.

"I can grab him… He wasn't too much trouble, was he?" Germany asked, taking Italy from Russia's arms and Russia handing over the other nation carefully.

The tall nation shook his head. "No, not too much."

Germany nodded. "Well, thank you for bringing him back. I'll see you later."

"It was no trouble. I will see you soon," Russia replied and walked back to his car.

-o-

Italy woke up to Germany sleeping next to him, on what seemed to be the blonde's bed. Though he had a headache and wasn't really fond of having to think, he tried to recollect what had happened. The last thing he remembered was getting into Russia's car after drinking at the bar with him, then after that… had he fallen asleep?

"Italy?" Came Germany's soft voice from beside him. A hand brushed with care over his forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"Ve… head hurts…" Italy replied, his voice sounding slightly pained even to his own ears. "Did Russia bring me here?"

Germany gave a stiff nod. "Where did you go with him? I thought you were coming with the rest of us."

"I… I was, but… You're not mad at me, are you?" Italy replied.

"A little," Germany admitted.

Italy averted his eyes. "I'm sorry…"

Germany let out a small sigh and placed a hand on top of Italy's head, sitting up.

"Well, it's good you weren't hurt," he told Italy in an affectionate, albeit somewhat awkward-sounding tone. "You never know what might happen around that guy, especially when he drinks."

Italy nodded, although he faintly recalled the way Russia had stayed relatively in control of himself despite the number of drinks that must have been in his system. It was unexpected, now that he thought about it. He wasn't sure now why he had gone along with Russia in the first place so easily, having heard of the nation being outright life-threatening when drunk. It was… _oh god_, his head hurt too much to think that hard…

"I'm sorry, Germany…" he apologized again.

"It's alright," Germany said. "I forgive you. He just worries me."

_Is that why you've been keeping us apart these past few days?_ Italy wondered, though he didn't voice the question. He didn't blame Germany for wanting to keep them apart for understanding that the other nation wanted to keep him safe.

Because Russia was dangerous.

Wasn't he?

Italy wondered, then, why he still felt drawn to Russia like he did. It was very unlike him to be drawn to dangerous things and people—by no means was he an adrenaline-junkie. Did he feel bound to Russia? No, that wasn't quite it, either.

But something about Russia's voice, Russia's face and smile and touch… Italy already knew and accepted well that he was somewhat physically attracted… Well, when Russia wasn't scaring the living daylights out of him or making angering comments towards him, anyways (Italy still wasn't quite over what Russia had said about Germany or the fact that he'd made a – slightly expensive—hole in the side of his house)…

It made his heart flutter, thinking of him.

Italy became disrupted from his thoughts when he finally noticed Germany had left.

Had Germany said anything to him before getting up that he didn't catch? He really hadn't meant to space out that much.

"Germanyyyy!" he called out, getting out of the bed and waiting until the room stopped spinning before attempting to head out the bedroom after the other nation.

* * *

><p>Bringing in some more headcanon for this chapter, about Germany and the end of WWII. I think everyone knows facts-wise what happened, so I probably don't need to go into detail there... Russia's "death" is a similar story.<p>

Although, I apologize if you spotted inconsistencies to make such a theory (if you want to point them out, send me a _NICE_ PM -don't put things in a review-, and it had better be nice, or I'll delete and ignore the message entirely, and I'll look things over). I did as much research as I could, but I realize there's still probably gaping holes that I haven't yet analyzed. I have a whole other side-story in the works that puts Russia's finding of Germany into more perspective, but I don't think it'll get posted here because of the nature of it.

Happy 4th of July, and until next time! Thanks goes to sweet_and_simple for beta-ing!


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